


Beneath It All

by Baphrosia (spuffy_luvr)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 139,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffy_luvr/pseuds/Baphrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Human! When Buffy meets William over a book of poetry, sparks fly - but he's just passing through town, and she's involved with another man.  A year later, Spike comes barelling into her life, and she thinks she's found William again - until the jerk opens his mouth to speak.  Buffy hates Spike with a passion.  So why is she drawn to a man who is nothing like the ideal she holds in her heart?</p><p>WINNER for best WIP in Round 10 of the RWSA.  Thank you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrounded by Stories

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story WILL feature Buffy/Angel and Spike/Dru in the first few chapters. There will even be some moments of fuzzy, semi-glossed-over intimacy between Buffy and Angel. If you continue on, you are agreeing to read TEMPORARY Bangel, so please don't flame or complain. It's temporary though, I promise.
> 
> I have all but the very ending of this story written - I'm not sure how many chapters I'll divide it into, but it's about 130,000 words, so fairly long.
> 
> Thanks to 3hours for beta-ing this chapter! She keeps me going when I run out of words.
> 
> All characters belong to that Joss Whedon guy and all his associates, not me. I play with them for fun, not profit.

         

“Oh, come on!”

William Pratt glanced up from his book to see a young woman scanning the nearby shelves, head tilted at an angle as she read the spines of the books in front of her.  She reached a hand up, touching each tome with her fingertip as she muttered the name to herself, shifting forward to examine the next book and the next, becoming more and more agitated as she moved down the line.  With a frustrated huff, she blew the blonde tendrils that had escaped her ponytail out of her eyes and stalked back to the beginning, scanning the titles even more closely. 

When she reached the end once more, she leaned forward and thumped her forehead against the wooden end of the bookshelf, emitting a hushed groan.  William had to stifle a chuckle.  The girl was _cute_ , without even trying.  He wondered what she was looking for, but then she stomped away towards the circulation desk, fists on her slim hips, and he went back to his reading.  It was almost closing time, and he wanted to finish before then.  Not being a denizen of this city, he couldn’t exactly check the book out of the library, and his search for a copy at the local bookstores had already proven futile.

He was lost in the ebb and flow of the words on the page when she returned, but her low curses dragged him back to the here and now, and he watched with interest as she checked the shelves again, searching for the obviously misplaced volume.  William dropped his gaze just as she spun to face him, but not before he caught the angry spark in her bright green eyes.  _Feisty,_ he thought.  _And gorgeous._  

Dragging a hand through his curls, he readjusted his glasses and tried to focus on the words before him instead of the woman who was now stalking from side table to side table, grabbing up and then dropping each book with a thump, as if they offended her for being the wrong item.  The thumps and the curses grew louder as she neared him, and he bit his lip, trying to keep his mouth from twitching upwards into a grin.

The long, slim lines of her tan pencil skirt filled his vision.  He looked up.

“Hey,” she said, and William noticed her hands twisting together.  “I, uh… don’t want to be rude, but…”  She indicated the books at his feet.  “I’m looking for a book that’s supposed to be on the shelves, and I was kinda hoping you have it.  The librarian promised it to me, see, for a paper I’m writing that’s due next week, so I really need this book…”  She trailed off, blushing.  “And I’m babbling Buffy now.”

He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow.  _Buffy?_   Scooping the books off the ground, he stood, stepping into her space and holding the spines outward so she could read the titles for herself.  “What are you looking for, pet?”

Buffy did a double take at his endearment, then flushed brighter.  “The Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” she said.  “Which you don’t have.  This is so not my day.”

William smiled.  “I daresay it is after all.”  She flashed him a look that plainly said he was off his rocker, but he ignored it, twisting to pick up the book he’d laid over the arm of his chair.  “I have it right here.”

“Oh.”  Her face lit up and her eyes sparkled.  “Oh!  That’s wonderful!  You’ve saved my life!  I thought I was going to have to make do with Selected Poems, which, you know, isn’t _complete_.”  Her face fell.  “Unless you wanted to check it out?”

He shook his head.  “No library card.  Was only planning on perusing until the library closes.  But you may take it, seeing as you need it so badly,” he said with a grin.

Buffy grinned back at him.  “I can wait, it’s no problem.  Another half hour won’t matter.”

“Shan’t take me that long,” William replied, surprised to find himself speaking in the more genteel tones of his youth and not the rougher London street slang he’d adopted as his own.  Spending the last several hours with the poets had affected him in ways he’d rather not consider, but it was too late now.  He’d likely scare the chit if he changed his manner of speech mid-sentence.  “It’s very gracious of you to allow me to finish.  I… uh…”  She was staring up at him with those big green eyes, cheeks still pink, and he found himself confessing, “My mother passed away recently, and I find Tennyson’s words comforting.  On the more difficult days.  Of which today was one.  I’ve misplaced my copy and the local bookstore was fresh out of his works, so… here I am.”  It was his turn to blush as he shrugged depreciatingly, feeling like a pathetic git as he told his life story to a complete stranger.

Her face blazed with sympathy, however, and she covered his hand with hers.  “I’m so sorry.  My mother was sick last year, and we thought… but then she got better… and…  I’ll just go sit quietly in the corner and wait ‘til you’re done.”  She flashed him a nervous smile and retreated to a small sofa across the room, picking up the book bag that had been resting there and rifling through it.

William dithered, torn between finishing the poem he’d been reading and hurrying to her side to engage her in further conversation.  And possibly further handholding.  His skin was tingling where she’d touched it, his heart beating far faster than one would expect in a library. 

_I don’t even know her_ , he scolded himself.  _And Drusilla…_

And Drusilla, what?  Wasn’t like he was off shagging this Buffy girl.  He just wanted to talk to her more.  About… Tennyson.  The scholar in him wanted to find out what kind of paper she was writing.  That was all.  Besides, turnabout was fair play.  His girlfriend of several years had no problem flirting with every male she encountered, laughingly teasing him for being so jealous when all she wanted was a bit of fun.  Would it be so wrong to spend a few minutes in the company of a beautiful young woman?  One who’d shown him kindness when he was feeling low?

_Not at all, mate,_ Spike whispered to him.

Spike would do it, no problem.  But he wasn’t Spike right now, didn’t even know if he could summon his alter-ego months after reverting to William for his mother’s sake.  Buffy looked up, and noticing he was still standing there watching her, gave him a shy little wave.  “I don’t mind waiting,” she repeated.  She tucked her feet under, settling in, and his heart did a funny kind of thump in his chest.

Mind made up, he joined her, perching on the opposite end of the couch.  “Was about done anyhow.  What’s your paper on, then?” he asked when she looked up.

“Oh!”  She rifled through her bag again, pulling out a notebook and quoting from it.  “In what ways was Tennyson an heir to the Romantic generation?  In what ways did he differ from his predecessors?  Use examples to support your position.”  She gestured to the book in his hand.  “You see why I might need that.  Somebody already checked it out from the library at my university, so the librarian sent me here.  For whatever reason, Lord Tennyson’s poems have been awfully hard to get my hands on.  I’m almost ready to admit that the universe wanted me to choose the essay on Keats or Browning instead.  But, ah…”  Buffy looked down, words tumbling out in an apprehensive rush.  “I really felt a connection with Tennyson, you know?”

“That’s important,” William replied, warming to the subject.  “That the poet’s words speak to you.  It’ll make it much easier to write your essay.”

She blinked up at him, pleased he understood.  “That’s what I thought, too.”

“I’m curious, though, why not just Google him?  You don’t need a book in hand.”

Laughing, Buffy replied, “Oh, that’s the fault of my mentor.  He tutored a bunch of us in high school, and he always insisted on using actual books.  Said it leant more gravitas to the subject.  For a long time, I thought he meant because the books were so heavy to lug around, like gravity, you know?”

“Sounds like my uncle,” William said with a chuckle.  “We were close when I was growing up.  When he still lived in London.  He’s the one who taught me to love the written word.  And the smell of musty old books.”

Buffy nodded.  “It’s a habit now.  I study better this way.”

“Well, then.  Something else we have in common, besides a love of Tennyson.” 

“I dunno, feels a bit premature to be finding commonalities before I even know your name,” she said, eyes twinkling.  “Think you’re jumping the gun.”

He chuckled.  “Forgive me.  William, at your service.  And you are Buffy, yes?”

“Yup, that’s me.  Buffy, first year student at Northern Arizona University, and recent lover of Tennyson.”

“Long-time lover of the poets, recently of London, and working my way cross-country to visit the uncle I was telling you of,” William replied.  “My mother’s brother,” he added while he made a quick calculation in his head.  If she was a first year university student, that made her… four or five years younger than himself.

Buffy reached out, and he inhaled sharply at the warmth of her smaller hand on his, her flowery perfume invading his senses as she leaned towards him.  “How did your mother… if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Cancer.  It was...   By the time they caught it, all we could do was wait for the end.  I took care of her until… and then…  I couldn’t stay there anymore.  We’d been so close, you see, all my life, after my father died.  She was my biggest fan, and then she was gone.  I had to leave.”  William blinked back tears, surprised at how the words slipped out, words he had never imagined telling anyone but his uncle Rupert. 

_Christ, the girl’s going to think you’re a complete wanker, sniveling like a big girl’s blouse.  Not what she wants to hear, some stranger crying over his poor lost mama._

Buffy’s own eyes were glistening, though.  “I am _so_ sorry.”  She chewed her lip, then motioning to the book still in his hand, she added, “Do you have a favorite?

William thumbed through the pages until he reached the end, grateful for the change of topic.  “It varies from day to day.  But “Crossing the Bar” was my mum’s.  As you might guess.  We read it often, before…”

She leaned closer to read, “ _Sunset and evening star and clear call for me…_ ”

“ _And may there be no moaning of the bar, when I put out to sea,_ ” he finished.

“You have a beautiful voice.  Nicer than my professor, at any rate,” she said.  When he looked at her, she dropped her eyes.

William watched her flush, completely captivated.  He opened his mouth to speak, and let out a strange croaking sound.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “Would… would you like me to recite it for you?  I’ve, uh, well, I’ve had a fair bit of practice.” 

Buffy raised her eyes to his.  “Yes, please.”

He licked his lips, suddenly self-conscious.  Which was ridiculous.  He – well, Spike – could strut about a stage, before hordes of screaming fans, no problem, and yet here he sat, about to hyperventilate over twelve lines he’d memorized long ago and an audience of one.  Shifting in his seat, William drew in a breath, but somebody nearby cleared their throat, cutting him off before he could begin.

Tearing his eyes away from the vision in front of him, he looked up to see an elderly woman smiling at them.  “We’ll be closing in ten minutes, folks, if you want to take your books to the front desk?”

William looked down at the words before him, then gently closed the book.  “Another time, perhaps?” he said, handing her the coveted volume.  “I’m sure she’s anxious to be home,” he nodded at the librarian’s retreating form.

“Yeah.”  He could hear the disappointment in her voice, and his heart did that funny thing in his chest once more.  He busied himself with polishing his glasses as Buffy packed up, then trailed after her to the front desk, wondering if he should slip away while she was occupied with the librarian.  William had to admit that he more than wanted to continue talking to the small blonde with the sparkling eyes, but… where would this go, exactly?  Nowhere.  Best to leave it as a pleasant memory.

He’d just made up his mind to walk away when Buffy touched his arm, smiling at him.  He smiled back, not regretting that the decision was out of his hands, and gestured towards the door.  “Shall we?” 

“So… uh… thanks for saving my life.  Or, you know, my essay.  And for not living here so you couldn’t check out the book I needed.  And, _wow_ , do I have foot-in-mouth disease.  That didn’t come out right at all.”

William chuckled as he opened the door for her.  “No worries, love, know exactly what you mean.”

They stood together on the sidewalk, both shifting uncomfortably, but neither making a move to leave.  Buffy darted skittish glances his way, and William was pleased to realize she wasn’t ready for the moment to end either.  “How much longer are you going to be in town?” she asked.

“It’s rather as the mood takes me, but I suspect I’ll be moving on tomorrow.”

“Um, William?  I’m very sorry about your mother.  I hope… well, I hope the rest of your trip goes well.  And that it’s not so hard when you get home again.”

His chest ached.  Sweet, feisty, cute.  William had never before considered he might love somebody other than Drusilla, but… this girl.  She could be the one, were it possible.  “Thanks, love,” he said, his voice rough.  And then he stepped forward, intending to give her a friendly hug, to surround himself with her scent and know how she felt in his arms before she walked out of his life.

She twisted away, though, eyes wide as a bus zoomed past.  “Oh, _shit!_   I mean, crap.  My bus!”  Buffy made to run after it before she realized it was futile.  She glanced at the sky, then at her watch.  “Look, William, I hate to be rude, but I need to take off.  That was the last bus and it’s a few miles back to campus.  I don’t want to be out and about after dark.”  She darted forward and hugged him, a self-conscious ‘I don’t know quite know you’ hug that was over far quicker than he would have liked, then spun away and strode quickly down the street, blonde ponytail swinging behind.

“Buffy, wait!” he called out.  She turned around.  “I have a car, right here.”  He pointed to the sedan parked nearby.  “I can run you home, no problem.  I’d hate for a beautiful girl like you to be walking around after dark.  Not that I think you’re helpless,” he amended when her face wrinkled up, all set to protest.  “But it would make me feel better, knowing you got home safe.”

She fidgeted.  “Oh.  Um.  You seem very nice and all, but… I don’t make a habit of getting in strange men’s cars.  My mother made me a bit paranoid.  Stranger danger, you know?  So I’ll just walk, thanks.”

“How ‘bout you drive, then.  Take my car, and I’ll walk back, pick it up from you.”

Buffy laughed.  “Nope, that’s even worse.  That’s proof right there of how much a stranger you are.  Anybody who knows me more than a day or two knows better than to put me behind the wheel of a car.  Besides.  If I took your car, who would protect _you_ while you braved the mean streets alone, pretty boy?”

_Little minx_. 

“Maybe I’ll just follow along behind you, then, all stalker-like.”

She scrunched up her nose in distaste, and William realized she hadn’t caught his teasing tone.  “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to sound so sketchy.  It’s just… my mother raised me right.  I can’t leave a lady alone if I’m worried for her.  How about this – you ride in back, and I’ll be your chauffeur.  Safe enough?” 

Looking up at the sky again, Buffy relented.  “Thank you.  And I’m riding shotgun.  But if you turn out to be some crazy psycho, I will make you pay, understood?”

“Understood.”

Small talk was awkward after that, but soon they were conversing lightly, Buffy detailing her upcoming finals, and William telling her of the various places he’d stayed on his cross-country journey.  “So, this is me,” she said when they reached the dorms.  “Thanks for the ride.

She flashed him a smile then turned to open her door, and William blurted, “Do you want to go get coffee?”  Sitting with her in his car, speaking of inconsequential things, he realized he hadn’t felt so content in… well, months at least.  Maybe years.  He’d known excitement and happiness, sure, but not this quiet contentment, this feeling that he was safe to be himself with somebody else.  Somebody _not_ his mother, at any rate.  And that led him to realize he wasn’t ready for this girl he’d just met, this girl who sent his pulse racing even as she soothed his soul, to walk out of his life.

Buffy hesitated, clearly torn.  Finally, she said, “Okay, this is going to sound like a total brush-off, but it’s not.  I’m involved with somebody… and it’s pretty serious.”

“Oh, me too!”  William interrupted before she could go on.  “I’m not… propositioning you.  Not that you’re not desirable enough to proposition.  I would love to proposition you!  But I’m…”  He snapped his mouth shut before any more words could come tumbling out.  “Let me try that again.  I just thought we could talk more.  About Tennyson and whatnot.” 

Her hand hid her mouth, but not the giggles she was trying to suppress or the mirth in her eyes.  “I would love to, I really would.  But see, my boyfriend, well, it’s long-distance.  And that’s hard enough, you know?  So we made a pact that neither of us would spend time with the opposite sex one-on-one.  Because it would be easy to…  I don’t know, get carried away?  If we get lonely or something.”

William nodded.  He understood what she was saying, even if he thought it was a bit excessive.  “Of course, love.  I wouldn’t want to… well, I would never presume to intrude on your relationship.  There’s nothing worse than a man who goes after another man’s girl.  And I, ah, respect that.  That you’re so committed.”

She nodded, eyes shining as she spoke of her boyfriend, and William was jealous of the faceless man who’d inspired such devotion.  “Yeah.  It’s worth it though.  It feels like I’ve loved him forever, but we only started dating right before I left for college.  If I’d known… well, I might have actually stayed home and gone to college there.  Which I know is ridiculous and high school, but there you have it.”  She shrugged.  “Better this way, I guess.  Mom would have freaked if I’d given up my scholarship here.  So anyhow, much as I hate to sound so… weird… going out for a friendly cup of coffee with a cute – uh, with a guy – is a big no in the world of Buffy.  Nothing personal.  If you lived here, I’m sure we’d end up friends, but seeing as you’re moving on…”  Her apologetic smile made his heart skip.

“Well, then.”  William reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Buffy.  Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“You – you too.”  Her breathing was suddenly loud and ragged in the small car.  Buffy squeezed his hand, and without another word, fumbled open the door and left.  William watched her go, waiting until she was out of sight, and then he put the car in gear, heading to his hotel to pack up.  It was time to move on.

 


	2. Douchebags'R'Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying (or otherwise), I love to hear about it!
> 
> For those of you who actually like Angel, you might notice he's somewhat OOC. My goal is always to keep everybody as in character as possible, but I wanted Angel to behave a certain way. So... think of him as an original character who just happens to share Angel's name and looks if it bothers you. :)
> 
> Thanks to 3hours and Science for betaing.

 

 

“Willow?  I think I did something bad.”

“Bad?  Bad how?”  Buffy’s friend said on the other end of the line.  “Cheating on a test bad?  Murdering bad?  Forgetting to pay for the lipstick at the bottom of the cart bad?”

“Cheating on Angel bad.”

The sounds of Willow choking came across the telephone line.  “You… you cheated on Angel?”

“No.  Not really.  But…  I thought about it.”

“ _You_ thought about it?  You, the Buffy who’s been in love with Angel since we were both fifteen?  Must be a super-hottie.”  Willow’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “Was there kissing?”

“ _What?  No!”_   Buffy screeched.  “No kissing.  No nothing!  Well, he did kiss my hand.  But, that was like, a formal kiss thing, not a hot and heavy kiss.”

“So?  Spill.  And I want all the details.  No keeping your best friend in the dark.”

Buffy took a deep breath and tried to ignore the guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.  When she spoke, her voice was heavy with confession.  “I had to go to the public library to get a book.  And this guy – total cutie, in a geeky sort of way – had the book I needed.  We ended up talking, and I missed my bus so he gave me a ride back to the dorms, then asked me out for coffee.”  After a pregnant pause, Buffy whispered, “ _I almost said yes_.”

There was silence on the other end.  “But… you didn’t?”

“No!  Of course not!”

“And are you going to see him again?”

“He doesn’t live here.  He was just passing through.”

Buffy could hear Willow’s brain processing this from the next state over.  Her stomach roiled as she waited for the condemnation she was sure she deserved. 

“So, a cute guy gave you a ride and asked you out for coffee, which you turned down, and you’re equating this to cheating on your boyfriend?”

“I almost said yes,” Buffy reminded her.

“And if you had… this would have led to smoochies and nakedness?”

“Well, okay, probably not.  He was a real gentleman.  I don’t think it would have led to anything besides a pleasant evening.  But I have that tingly feeling, and that is _bad_ , Willow.  _Bad_.  Good girlfriends don’t get tingly feelings for somebody who is not the man they’ve loved since they were fifteen.”  The back of her hand throbbed where William had kissed it, as if to accentuate how awful a person Buffy Summers truly was.

Willow sighed.  “Buffy, you didn’t do anything wrong.  A cute guy made you feel a bit tingly.  It happens.  It’s understandable, especially with the Angel being here and the you being there.”

“Which is exactly why we made The Pact in the first place, Wills.  So stuff like this wouldn’t happen!”

“And you didn’t break The Pact.  I know you, and you would never do anything to hurt Angel, no matter how tingly some guy makes you feel.  So stop beating yourself up, and start congratulating yourself for being strong enough to resist this mystery man’s devilish charms.  Which you have yet to enumerate.”

Buffy hesitated, the butterflies William had left her with warring with the guilt.  “I… that’s too much like thinking about cheating.”

“Not one bit.  It’s like if you met Brad Pitt.  We’d giggle over how cute he is, and obsess over every little detail of what he said and how he looked when he said it, but you wouldn’t think of it as cheating ‘cause you know he’s completely off limits.  Fantasy material and nothing more.  You’re never going to see this guy again, Buff.  Give in to the squeals.”

Buffy let the memory of William wash over her, reliving the way his impossibly blue eyes crinkled when he grinned at her, his almost-ridiculous honey brown curls, and the rich timbre of his voice.  She thought about how good he’d smelled, the way he’d made her heart flutter, and the strange feeling of _rightness_ that had come over her when he’d taken her hand.

_She’s right, I’ll never see him again_.  The thought didn’t make her feel any better, and right on its heels came another heaping of guilt for even daring to wonder if she’d let someone special walk out of her life.

Willow cut into her self-recrimination.  “Buffy?  I know what you’re thinking, okay, and you’re not _him_.  Noticing that there are other cute men in the world does not make you a womanizing douchebag – or a man-inizing douchebag, as the case may be.”

“Yeah.  That’s… you’re right.  Not like I ran off to Spain with him or something…”

“Forget Spain.  Not like you even shared a nice, innocent cup of coffee with him.”  Buffy hesitated, and Willow put on her most wheedling voice.  “Come on, you know you want to tell me all about it…”

 “Okay, okay,” Buffy laughed.  “William.  His name was William, and he had these eyes that you would not believe.  Blue like… just _blue_.  He was all kinds of cute, too.  And British, with the gorgeous accent and the sexy voice.  I could’ve listened to him talk all day.  Actually, you know who he reminded me of?  Giles,” Buffy said, thinking of their high school mentor.  “When he first moved to Sunnydale.  All proper and formal British guy… come to think of it, he even looks a bit like Giles.  A much, much younger Giles.”

“You’ve got my interest,” Willow said with a snicker.  “You know how I used to crush on Giles.”

“Used to?” 

“All right, all right.  We’re so not going there right now.  Tell me more about Giles Junior.”

“The thing is, even though he seemed proper, and kinda geeky… there was something about him.  In the way he moved.  Something that screamed ‘I can go all night and half the next day too’.”

Willow began to choke again, and her tone was scandalized when she was able to speak once more.  “ _Buffy!_   Holy cow, girl, we’ve got to get you and Angel together before you explode from pent-up lustiness.”

“Mmm, I agree.  I am _so_ looking forward to this summer, when we can finally, _you know_ , instead of making do with naughty emails and phone calls.”

“No kidding.  It’s no wonder you’re feeling all tingly over another man.  You’ve made it to the end of your first year of college without _ever_ you-knowing.”

“Yeah, well, just ‘cause you and Oz were smart and planned your lives out better than me…  I had to leave before Angel and I got that far.  Which is totally no big deal.  Just means I’ll be extra ready when it happens.”  Willow hummed her agreement.  Buffy deliberated, then said, “It wasn’t just lustiness with William, though.  There was something there.”

“Something there more than the something with Angel?”

Buffy sighed, digging down to find her normally logical self, the one that was buried under a squealing, _tingling_ girl.  “No.  How could there be?  I just met the guy.  I think you’re right, it’s this enforced celibacy making me antsy.  And that’s why The Pact is so important.”  She sighed again.  “Only three more weeks,” she said, more to herself than to her friend, pushing William’s face out of her mind and replacing it with that of her tall, dark and handsome boyfriend.

 

 

Rupert Giles covered his mouth with his fist in an attempt to stifle the ungentlemanly belch he’d just emitted, then lifted his glass, signaling for his nephew to refill it.  “I daresay,” he slurred, “this is not how your mother would expect to be commemorated, William.”

“It’s _Spike_ , old man, and yeah, I think it is.  She knew me quite well, and she knew you when you still had the bollocks to call yourself _Ripper_ , so don’t pull that tosh on me.”  William-slash-Spike tossed his drink back.  “I do believe her exact words were, ‘ _Don’t get too shitfaced with your uncle, dear_ ’.”

Giles snorted.  “Anne did _not_ say shitfaced, lad.”

“Got me there.  But she would’ve, if she hadn’t been such a… such a…”  William broke down in tears.

“Such a lady,” Giles finished for him, patting him awkwardly on the back.  “Lord knows how she ever turned out a reprobate like yourself.”

“No worries, she blamed my descent into ignominy on you,” William said, refilling both their glasses with a sniffle.  “Said you were a bad influence, what with the punk music and the earring and the… and the…”  He gesticulated wildly, trying to find something else disreputable about his uncle.

“You know I kept all that far away from you, you little tosser.  All _I_ taught you was how to read, and how to play the guitar.  The rest of it you discovered for yourself.  And bloody well put that fag out, you can’t smoke in here.”

William crushed his smoke out petulantly.  “Why the hell not?  S’a pub, innit?”

“No.  And the Bronze is a non-smoking establishment.  As they all are in this god-forsaken state.”

“Damn right s’not a pub.  No bloody decent beer on tap.”

His uncle sighed, slouching forward onto the table.  “Yes, well, these colonials have rather appalling taste, I’m afraid.  I do what I can, but…”  He trailed off into a light snore, empty glass dropping from his hand onto the carpeted floor of his office.

Belching, William sneered, “Old man,” as he shook another cigarette out of the pack.  He flicked open his Zippo, shot a guilty glance at the now-sleeping owner of the Bronze, then climbed to his feet.  He wove his way out of the back office, through the club that was in the process of closing up for the night, and outside to the alley. 

One of the bouncers – the tall, dark-haired one – was leaning against the brick wall, deep in conversation with a young woman.  William nodded blearily at the couple, then gave in to the pull of nicotine, inhaling until his lungs filled with the warm smoke.  He let it out in a steady stream, eyeing the couple as the man reached out to brush the woman’s amber-colored hair off her shoulder.  Her overly loud giggle echoed like a gunshot down the alley.

The bouncer straightened, and placed his hand on the small of the girl’s back to guide her to the door.  “Just give me a few to finish up and then we can get out of here, okay?” he said as they went inside.  The door closed, then popped back open a second later.  “Hey buddy, I need to lock this up.  You coming back in?”

“Sure.”  William took a final drag and crushed the butt under his heel.  He grunted his thanks as he stepped through the door.  His muddled mind tried to sort out the dilemma of his unconscious uncle, wondering how he was going to get the older man home.  As he made his way to the office, he noticed a pair of settees in one of the back rooms.  _Good enough_. 

After he’d half-carried his uncle to one of the ratty old sofas, William collapsed on the other, breathing in the familiar musty scents of sweat and smoke and booze.

_Smells like my life_ , he thought as he drifted off, memoires of sweltering back-stage rooms filled with smoky air and loud music following him into his dreams.

 

 

William had been in Sunnydale a week now.  He’d laughed and cried with the only other person alive who’d known his mother as well as he did, put a considerable dent in the old man’s private reserve, and pulled out the guitar for several late-night jam sessions with the uncle who had, despite his protests to the contrary, formed his nephew’s tastes in music as well as literature. 

He realized he was ready now.  Ready to head home and decide what to do with his mother’s estate.  Ready to move on with his life as an orphan, despite the hole in his heart that he doubted would ever be filled. 

Ready to once again resume his role as _Spike_ , aspiring rock star and lead singer for the London club scene’s hottest band, Edge of Insanity.

He fingered the well-worn edges of the book in his hands, a copy of Tennyson’s works that Giles had given to him to replace his own.  Unbidden, Buffy’s lively face swam before him, and he wondered how her paper had turned out.  And if she had yet returned to the boyfriend she’d spoken so highly of.

_Lucky bastard_.

Of course, he had his own love to return to.  He’d called Drusilla earlier in the day and let her light ramblings wash over him, soothing in their familiarity.  She’d demanded to know when he was going to return to her, and he’d responded, “Soon, princess, soon.” 

William nodded to himself, mind made up.  Soon was nigh.  He stood up and stretched out the kinks, rolling his shoulders and contemplating the steps he’d need to take next.  He raked his fingers through the mess of curls that kept flopping into his eyes.  _Cut off this ridiculous hair_ , was his first thought.  He’d let it grow back for his mum’s sake – only a mother could love the poncy curls that made him look as though he was the offspring of a blasted poodle.  She’d wanted the quiet young man she’d raised to see her through her final days, not the hard, brash punk he’d remade himself into two years ago, and really, it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice.  Not for the only woman who’d ever loved the pathetic, head-lost-in-the-clouds git he’d been for most of his life.

So he’d shaved his bleached locks and grown it out _au naturelle_ , exchanged frayed jeans and skin-tight tees for trousers and crisp linen shirts, and dropped the affected accent he’d copied from his girlfriend, the woman who had remade him into Spike.  He’d read Dickens and Austen and Tennyson to his mother as he sat by her bed, and promised her that, yes, he would continue with his education instead of throwing it all away for a fast lifestyle and a faster woman who would leave him bitter and used up before he reached twenty-five.

He felt a stab of guilt, knowing that he wasn’t following through on his promise, but… hell, there was time for school later, if his dreams didn’t pan out.  In the meantime, you were only young once.  It had been months since he’d left the band, but considering the weekly calls from his mate Charlie informing him that several clubs were still asking when he was going to return, never mind the fans who posed the same questions on their Facebook and YouTube pages, William had no doubts Edge of Insanity would have little problem reclaiming their rightful place in the London scene.

Looking at the clock, William decided to head to his uncle’s club and see who was playing tonight.  For a small town on the edge of LA, the Bronze hosted its fair share of decent acts.  He could well imagine one of them, Dingoes Ate my Baby, making it big.  They only needed an edge, a little something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, to be truly spectacular.

The dark-haired bouncer, Angel something-or-other, was manning the door tonight, chatting up a pair of girls as he checked their IDs.  William shuddered in distaste.  The man had left with a different girl twice in the week he’d been here, yet if the snatches of conversation he’d overheard between Angel and the other bouncer were anything to go by, the wanker had a girl of his own.  William wasn’t clear on where the chit was, only that she would be returning to Sunnydale soon.  He couldn’t help but wonder if the cheating bastard’s girl was a dimwit or merely naïve. 

He tossed Angel a curt nod and strolled in, heading to Rupert’s office in the back.  The band was just setting up, and canned music wafted out of the speakers.  The song reminded William of something he’d been working on before his mum took ill, and he wondered if he might be in the right frame of mind to finish it now.  A different melody ran through his head as he shut the door to the office, the song he and his uncle had been putting together over the last week.  It wasn’t his band’s usual style, far more sweet and melancholic than their typical retro-punk repertoire, but he thought they might be able to make it work.  Add a strong bass line, roughen up the chords a bit… put a little more growl into his voice when he sang. 

William picked up his guitar and played around with the refrain until his uncle walked in.

“Sounds good.”  Giles perched on the stool across from him, and picked up his own guitar.  “You thinking of using that with the band?”

“Yeah.  Think so, mate.”

Giles nodded.  “So you aren’t going back to school, then.”  William shot him a look, and he smiled.  “Fear not, William, I won’t press your mother’s case.  You know what you’re up to.”

“Ta, Ripper.  And it’s _Spike_.”

They played together for several minutes, until William said.  “Think I’ll be heading back in a day or two.”

“Did you want me to accompany you?”

William shook his head.  “Not ‘less you have a burning desire to.  Need to do this myself.”

“Of course.”  Giles stood, and put a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, though.  Or come back if needed.”

“And again, ta.  Hopefully I won’t be back until we’re ready to launch our American tour though, eh?”

“Any time, lad.”  He looked at his watch.  “Think the band should be ready to start; I’d better go see that everything is set up.”

Setting down his guitar, William followed him and found a corner table to enjoy the show.  At the end of the evening, he headed outside for a fag, and rolled his eyes when he found Angel outside with yet another small, blonde girl.

“Come on Darla, you knew the score,” Angel was saying.  “It was just a bit of fun to pass the time.”

“ _Fun_.  Until your precious Buffy comes home,” Darla snapped, and William’s head whipped around.  “Maybe I should let dear Buffy know what kind of fun you’ve been having.”

William stared at Angel.  Surely it wasn’t the same Buffy…? 

“Darla, sugar.  Buffy and I have an arrangement.  We’re destined, she and I.  Soul mates.  What we do when we’re apart, it has no bearing on our love, or our future together.”

“And she’s thick enough to fall for that?”  Darla asked.  William couldn’t help but agree.  He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, shaking his head.  Buffy was the daft kind of name so popular in sunny California.  Obviously this was a completely different Buffy, not the sweet, kind girl who was so devoted to her boyfriend, and so sure that he was equally devoted to her.  _She_ wasn’t the type to have an ‘arrangement’ with the smarmy asshole in front of him.

The memory of her fiery green eyes flashed through his mind, and he flicked his cigarette away with a disdainful sniff, no longer interested in listening in on Angel’s conversation.  Yeah, no way a girl with her spunk would be involved with this git.  He went back inside, half his mind focused on the arrangements he needed to make to return home, the other half wondering where Buffy – _his_ Buffy – was now.


	3. Apocalypse Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters are going to be setting our heroes up. This is a long-ish story, so things are going to take time. Be patient, the Spuffy will begin very soon! :) 
> 
> Beta-ed by the lovely Science.

 

Buffy’s steps quickened as she neared the luggage carrousel.  Her first year of university was under her belt, and the entire summer stretched ahead.  A summer filled with beaches, friends, and…  Angel.

“Angel!” she shouted, dashing forward into his arms.  He swept her off her feet, spinning her in a circle as she laughed, his hands warm on her back.

“Hello, lover.  Happy to see me?”  She fisted her hands in his hair, and dragged his head towards hers for a hungry kiss.  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a when they parted.

Cupping his face, she said, “ _Hell_ , yes!  I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Where else would I be but right here with my best girl?”

She poked him in the shoulder.  “Your _best_ girl?”

Angel kissed her again, drawing it out until she melted, only his firm grip keeping her upright.  “My best and only girl.”

Buffy pressed up against him, not caring in the least that they were making a spectacle.  “You got that right, mister.” 

“Come on, let’s get your bags.  I’ve got the night off, and I’m taking you out on the town before we head back to Sunnydale.”  He took her hand, and tugged her towards the baggage.

“But Mom…?”

“Already cleared it with your mom.  Which is why I’m here instead of her.  For tonight, you’re all mine.”  Angel gave her a brilliant grin, and Buffy’s heart melted.  _This_ was what she had been looking forward to for the last three weeks.  She squeezed his hand tighter, enjoying how small and dainty hers felt clasped by his larger once, her heart tripping with joy.

 

 

“ _Now_ I feel like I’m home.”  Buffy grinned at her two best friends sprawled on the couch beside her. 

“Ah, the memories.”  Willow tucked her red hair behind her ear.  “Popcorn, ice cream, gummy bears…”

“ _Apocalypse Now_ …”  Xander cut in, holding up a DVD.

“And annoying kid sisters.  Dawn, scat,” Buffy said, and leveled an imperious stare at the fifteen-year old.  “This movie night is for college students only.”

Dawn glared at her sister.  “Xander’s not in college,” she said, nodding at the dark-haired man trying to fit an entire handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Thanks for pointing that out, Dawnster.”  Popcorn spilled down Xander’s shirt as he spoke.  “My ego was on the brink of inflating without valid cause.  I needed the reminder that colleges couldn’t say no fast enough.  Really, they didn’t even bother with rejection letters.  Instead, the minute they reviewed my application, they called to laugh at me over the phone.  Maniacally.”

The younger girl giggled, and Buffy shot her the evil eye.  “Unlike some people in this room, Xander is an adult.  And he _could_ be in college if he wanted to,” she defended her friend. 

“Yeah, well so could I!”

“Not with your math grade this term,” their mother, Joyce Summers, said, laying a hand on Dawn’s shoulder.  “Come on sweetie, leave Buffy and her friends alone.  You and I can go watch a movie in my room.  I’ve got M&M’s,” she said, waving the bag enticingly.

Dawn turned towards the stairs, then looked back over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at her older sister.  Buffy returned the gesture and added a monster face for good measure.

“Ah, siblings,” Willow said.  “And who here is lucky enough to be an only child?”  She raised her hand, and Xander joined her.

“Whatever,” Buffy muttered as Xander moved to the DVD player, wishing with all her heart that she could have raised her hand as well.  One more benefit of going away to university – annoying kid sisters were an entire state away.

Willow grabbed at Xander’s sleeve to prevent him from inserting the disc in his hand into the open tray of the DVD player.  “No more _Apocalypse Now_.  You promised!”

“That was last year.  And seeing as this is an entirely new year, that promise is null and void.”

Buffy watched her friends bicker, amused.  Going away to college and meeting new people had been a blast, but nothing could replace friends like these.  The three of them had been inseparable since their first days of Junior High, forming a bond so tight that even after an entire year apart, they meshed back together without any effort.

_Like Velcro.  Or magnets._

After much negotiation, which involved both tickling and hair pulling, Willow and Xander finally agreed on _The Princess Bride_.  The girls settled in together on the couch with Xander at their feet, while Willow held the popcorn high overhead, out of his reach.  Soon, he was entranced with the movie, eyes following the characters on the screen as he mouthed their lines along with them.

“Never fails,” Willow said in a low voice.  “Do you think he’ll ever admit his obsession?”

Buffy snickered.  “Seeing as he hasn’t confessed for eight years running, I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Willow’s voice dropped lower.  “So?  How was your big reunion with Angel yesterday?  Was it… satisfying?”

Buffy darted a quick glance at Xander, but he was engrossed in the onscreen sword fight.  “We had a nice night.  And, no, I didn’t jump his bones the minute I got off the plane, you big perv,” she said to her friend’s knowing look.  “It’s going to be our first time.  I want… you know.  Romantic.  Not the back of his car.  Give me a day or two to settle in first.”

Her friend nodded sagely.  “Speaking of settling in… the Dingoes are playing Friday night at the Bronze.  You in?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  A smile crossed Buffy’s face as she anticipated spending Friday night with her boyfriend.  Sure, he’d be at work, but… after a year apart, minus a few short weekends together here and there, she’d take anything she could get.

 

 

“Giles!” Buffy chirped, giving the older man a bone-crushing hug.  “How are ya?”

He returned her hug with feeling, and she squeezed him a little tighter for good measure.  The man who’d once defined stiff upper lip had finally learned to accept her warm gestures of affection, and Buffy never failed to take advantage of it whenever she had a good excuse.  Giles had been a sort of stand-in for her father for years now, as well as the mentor who’d taught her to love the written language, so much so that she was considering majoring in English.  If not seeing him for five months didn’t count as a good excuse, she didn’t know what did.

“Don’t you look lovely, my dear,” he said.  “I see the college life agrees with you.”

“Yup.  Now that I’m out from under your thumb, I _finally_ get to party hearty every night, and wake up every morning with a different guy in my bed.”

Giles’ eyes widened as he tried not to react, and he whipped his glasses off to polish them.  Buffy was ready.  She snatched his spectacles away and held them behind her back, leaving him to splutter, hands windmilling aimlessly.

“Geez, you are too easy.  No, Giles.  I studied hard, I never touched anything alcoholic, and the only man I’m interested in is the one guarding the front door of your club right now.”

“I daresay the truth lies somewhere in between.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, eyes twinkling.  “Besides, you don’t get to take that outraged tone with me.  I know all about your misspent youth.  I even have newspaper proof.  Framed.  On my bedroom wall.”  She raised her hands as if to frame a piece of paper.  “ _Bobbies called in to break up pub brawl, Ripper sent to gaol yet again_.”

“Ha ha, very amusing.”

The young woman nodded, her pony-tail bouncing.  She plopped down into one of the chairs in his office, and he sat as well, although with far more decorum, plucking at his trouser legs and adjusting his shirt cuffs.  Buffy thought he might be overdoing it to prove just how very removed he was from his misspent youth.  “Oh, hey, speaking of me doing crazy things, you’ll never believe what extra-curricular activity I took up.”

“Well, I presume it’s not the chess club.”

“Ha ha, look who’s the funny one now.  Try again.”

“Remedial cooking lessons?  Beauty competitions?  Master welding?”

“And the funny just keeps on coming.  Nope.  I joined the show choir.”

Giles’ eyebrows shot up.  “Show choir?”

“Geez, why does nobody believe me when I tell them?  Doesn’t anybody remember me being in the Sunday school choir?”

“I believe that is the problem – that we do remember your brief, yet unforgettable career with the Sunday school choir.  As I recall, it did not end well.”

Buffy glared daggers at him.  “I was totally framed for that.  It was _Faith_ with the cigarette, not me.  I was trying to put it out.”

“By tossing it into the congregation?”

“Yeah, well.  I panicked.  Besides, it wasn’t my fault it landed on old what’s-her-name’s polyester pants and caught them on fire.  Let it be a lesson to old people everywhere – polyester is evil and dangerous.”  The older man shook with helpless laughter.  “Fine.  Yuk it up.  I’m going to go hang out with my _friends_.”

She stomped to the door, then tossed back over her shoulder, “And I _like_ show choir.  The director said I have a lot of potential!”

“Of course you do, my dear.”  Giles hurried after her and laid a hand on her arm.  Buffy harrumphed.  “I’m sure you’re brilliant at it.  Maybe we can get you up on stage this summer?  I hear Shy is looking for a new lead vocalist, as Veruca is, ah, otherwise occupied.” 

She held her hands up.  “Oh no, that’s too much attention.  Being part of a large group with other singing and dancing people is one thing, but having everybody’s eyeballs on me and me alone?  Not Buffy’s cup of tea.”  Giles nodded his understanding.  “So, boss-man, are you going to be very upset if I distract your bouncer when things are slow out there?”

“As long as you, erm, behave in a professional manner, no.”

“So no making with the smoochies.”  She tipped him a salute.  “Gotcha.”

 

 

Willow sighed as the Dingoes finished their first set.  “Isn’t Oz just the sweetest?  When he’s standing up there, his eyes half-closed, totally lost in the music…”

Buffy eyed the guitar player, whose hair was currently an alarming shade of green.  “And you’re totally lost in the guitar player…” she teased her friend.

“You know it!  Oh look, here he comes!”

Xander nudged her, and the two shared a grin over Willow’s sappiness.  She and Oz had started dating their final year of high school, but the two were still as over the moon for each other as they’d been on day one.  Buffy smiled, pleased her friend had a boyfriend who made her as happy as Angel did her.  She turned to assess Xander, hoping they could find somebody as good for him.  He’d had a  train wreck of a relationship in high school with Cordelia Chase, the school’s queen bee, and he had remained firmly single since then.  Xander was a good guy, besides being her best friend, and Buffy wanted to see him happy too.

Oz’s arrival at their table disrupted her musings.  He greeted Willow with a peck on the forehead, and she handed him a bottle of water that he downed in three large gulps.  After bestowing a more intimate kiss on his girlfriend, he turned to Buffy.  “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  She waited, but true to form, the taciturn green-haired man didn’t have much else to say.  “Oh come on, I haven’t seen you for a year and all I merit is a hey?” she said, standing to give him a hug.

He hugged her back, blinked at her several times, then said, “I hear you sing now.”  He didn’t appear to be finished, so she waited.  Eventually he added, “That’s cool.”

Buffy spun to face Xander and Willow.  “See?  That’s the kind of response I expect, not, ‘ _Good one, Buffy, tell me another, har har_ ’.”

“Well hey, it’s almost impossible to be offensive when you only ever utter, like, seven words in a row.  Tops,” Xander said.

The tiniest of smirks playing about Oz’s lips.  “My secret’s out.”

Buffy glanced back at the door to the club, which looked especially un-busy at the moment.  “I’m going to go see if Angel’s got a few minutes,” she said.  “He didn’t even have time to say hello earlier, he was so busy with the hordes of screaming Dingoes fans desperate to get in.”  Oz chuckled, and she could have sworn he blushed slightly, but otherwise he didn’t react. 

_Hordes of screaming fans isn’t so far from the truth_ , she thought as she slid off her stool.  Dingoes Ate My Baby had been semi-popular a year ago, but their status had definitely shot up while she’d been away.  Devon, the lead singer, was doing something different now.  She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a marked improvement in his singing.  And while she didn’t know a damn thing about playing an instrument, even Buffy could tell Oz’s guitar skills had improved as well.

Angel was sitting on a stool just outside the door, jawing with a patron as he looked over the young man’s ID.  The yellow light over the door buzzed and popped, bathing him in its garish glow while a fly zoomed lazily around his head.  He handed back the piece of plastic with a nod, then turned to Buffy with a smile.  “Was wondering if you’d come keep me company, or stay in there and make moon-eyes at the band with Willow.”

“When I can be out here and make moon-eyes at you?”  She batted her eyelashes at him, surprised at how handsome he looked despite the sickly lighting that ruined everybody else’s complexion.  And then she wondered if the lighting was ruining her complexion… and how mad would Giles be if she dragged Angel into the shadows with her?  She tugged at his hand, leading him to a dark patch at the mouth of the alley.  From there, they’d easily be able to see anybody coming and get back to the door in time.  She pushed him against the wall, and pressed her body into his.

“Leading me into the dark alley to ravage me, little girl?”  His breath was warm in her ear, and she shivered. 

“Just a little bit.”

They made out like hot and heavy teenagers – which, hello, she _was_ a teenager, even if Angel wasn’t.  “If Giles catches us, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” she whispered.  “I promised him we’d remain… professional, he called it.”  She dove in for another kiss, hands curled tightly in his hair.  “But, god Angel, I’ve missed you _so_ much.”

“Me too, baby.”  His hands grasped her bottom, yanking her closer.  “I’ve been dreaming about you for months now.  Can’t wait to take you home.  Need to show you how much I’ve missed you.” 

Buffy whimpered.  Her head fell back, and he dragged his mouth down her neck to her bare shoulder.  “Okay, okay.  We need to stop.  Before…”

Angel groaned, and the lust in his eyes set off her own low moan.  He spun with her still pulled flush against his chest, and walked them backward towards his post, his long legs pushing their way between her thighs until she bumped up against the stool, sitting automatically.

“Any chance you can come home with me tonight?” he said, voice rough with desire.

She wanted to say yes, but college student or not, _adult_ or not, she still answered to her mom.  “Mom would kill me.”  Angel pouted.  “Baby, I can’t do that to her,” she said, even though she really wanted to say _to hell_ with being a dutiful daughter.  No matter how old you were, parents were never cool with their daughters spending the night with their boyfriends.  At least not her mom.

“I know.  You’re just so beautiful.  And I love you so much.  Wanna show you how much”

Putty.  She was putty in his hands.  “I love you too.”

The sounds of the band starting up again floated through the door.  “You going back in?” Angel asked.

“And miss quality time with my man?  I don’t think so.”

Angel beamed at her.  “Sorry I have to work nights.  I don’t get to be a very good boyfriend this way.”

His thumbs traced circles against her palms, driving her crazy.  “But a job is good.”

“Yeah.  _This_ job is good.  Works well with my class schedule.”

“And you finishing your MBA is a good, good thing.  Because then you get to be all successful, rich business guy who buys pretty things for his devoted girlfriend.”

“And when you finish _your_ degree, you get to be my successful, pretty wife,” Angel said.

Buffy smiled sweetly at him, her eyes shining.  It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it, but a girl never tired of hearing such things.  With a quick glance around to assure that they were still alone, she pulled his mouth down to hers for another heated kiss.

 

 

In the days that followed, as May sped to a close, Buffy found herself putting off the big moment with Angel.  She’d go to his apartment with the express purpose of committing _the deed_ , as she and Willow called it, but even though they necked and explored and came close, Buffy always put a stop to things before they did theactual deed.  It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready – _hello_ , tired of being a virgin, and more than ready.  But somehow, whenever he asked if she was, she said no.  There she would lay, sure that today was the day she would give her virginity to the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, the man she loved with all her heart.

And every time, when he breathed her name and asked, “Is this okay?  Are you ready?” she’d shake her head and say no.

Today was the eighth? time it had happened, and she didn’t have to be a mind reader to know her boyfriend was frustrated as hell.

“What the _fuck_ , Buffy?  I’m not trying to pressure you, babe, but you can’t keep doing this to me.  If you don’t want to go all the way, you gotta stop me before we get this far.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears.  She knew wasn’t being fair to him, but she couldn’t help herself.

Angel took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Give me something to work with here, Buff.  Am I doing something wrong?  Are you scared?  Tell me what it is.”

Buffy shook her head, but didn’t say anything.  What could she say?  Angel wasn’t doing a single thing wrong.  It was her.  She was the one that was wrong.

Somehow, it didn’t seem like the best move to admit that every time she closed her eyes when they kissed, instead of seeing her boyfriend in her mind’s eye, she saw another man’s face – a man with impossibly blue eyes.  No, she didn’t think that would go over well at all.


	4. Ménage-a-Ghost

 

 

“I _told_ you I was a bad person.”  Buffy sat on the edge of her bed, head in her hands, shoulders slumped.  The very picture of abject misery.  “It’s been a month.  More!  And I’m still thinking about William.”  She raised her tear-stained face to Willow.  “I can’t believe Angel hasn’t broken up with me yet.  I’m not just tingly over somebody else, I’m fantasizing about him during sex.  And we haven’t even gotten to the actual sex yet.  What does that say about me?”

Willow was perched on the chair across from her, one hand on Buffy’s knee.  “Buffy.”  Her voice was quiet and serious, and Buffy focused on her, truly aware of her for the first time.

“What?”

“You’re my best friend, so I get to say this to you.  Out of love.  And concern.  And – and respect.”  Buffy’s eyes were riveted on Willow’s face as her friend frowned, clearly exasperated.  “ _Get over it_.”

She couldn’t believe her ears.  “Huh?”

“Get over it,” Willow repeated, her voice soft and placating despite her harsh words.  “This whining and worrying?  This is not like you.  There is a problem, admittedly, but… it’s not as horrible as you’re making it out to be.  And William isn’t the problem.  Not really.  So let’s figure out what it is.”

Buffy sniffled.  “They teach you to be such a mean, bossy person in your psych department?  ‘Cause I’m thinking that attitude?  Not going to go over well with your future clients.”

“And there’s the Buffy we all love.  So what is William a stand-in for?”

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,” Buffy grumbled.  “It’s not like you’re a licensed therapist.  Hell, it’s not like you’ve even declared your major yet.  You’re probably going to screw me up even more if you start Dr. Phil-ing around in my already screwed-up brain.”

Willow held her hands up.  “And here’s me backing off.  If all you want is a shoulder, then here one is,” she said, wiggling her shoulder.  “All nice and soft and comforting.  I just thought… some outside perspective, you know?”

Buffy didn’t answer.  She wiped her eyes and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as she looked around her room.  _It’s so childish_ , she thought, wrinkling her nose at the frilly pinkness of it, walls still covered with posters of the boy bands she’d listened to way back in junior high.  _No wonder I’m acting like such a little girl.  Angel’s a real man.  And if I don’t start behaving like a real woman…_

“I think I’ve waited too long to have sex.”

Well, it was worth saying it for the shock value alone.  Willow gawked at her, jaw hanging down.

“Because now it’s this big deal.  I’ve made it into this huge event in my mind, one that’s become terrifying.  What if it’s no good?  What if _I’m_ no good?  Lotta pressure there.  And, uh…”  Buffy mumbled the next part.  “And blaming it all on William lets me off the hook.”

Willow continued to stare at her, and Buffy squirmed.  “Fine, you tell me what the problem is then, since you’re the smart one.”

The redhead shook herself.  “Wow.  That was… just… wow.  Do you know how insightful that was?”

“Really?”  _Well, go me._

Nodding excitedly, Willow said, “Really.  And I think you’re on to something.  The question now is, whatcha gonna do about it?”

 

 

Buffy’s eyes gleamed.  She’d let herself into Angel’s apartment early in the morning, when she knew he’d still be sleeping, and stripped down to the lacy red demi-bra and thong set she knew he liked so much.  She stood at the side of his bed now, watching him snuffle into his sheets, sprawled on his belly, creases wrinkling the side of his face.  His hair, even in sleep, looked great – thick and dark – and her fingers itched to tangle themselves in it.

Her heart swelled.  He was so perfect.  Handsome, sweet, thoughtful, ambitious.  Everything Buffy had ever wanted.  And he was hers.

Mouth suddenly dry, Buffy licked her lips and tried to hush the nervous laugh that threatened to bubble out.  It was time to prove to Angel that she was his too.  She slid under the covers, wriggling under his splayed arm until she was pressed up against him.  She trailed kisses along his exposed skin, wherever she could reach – his neck, his shoulder, his chest – as her hands re-familiarized themselves with the planes of his body.  He squirmed and moaned for a moment, and then his eyes popped open, soulful brown orbs hazy with sleep and confusion. 

“B-Buffy?” he yawned.  “Mmmm.  Are you really here?”

She offered him a satisfied smile, reaching down to stroke him through his boxers.  “I’m here, baby.”

Angel groaned again, and Buffy hissed as his hands began their own exploration.

“Gotta be a dream,” he mumbled into her neck.  “Too nice a way to wake up.”  After a moment, he stiffened, suddenly fully awake.  “Babe?  What’s going on?”

Buffy had expected his confusion, and his hesitance.  She rolled him onto his back and straddled him.  “I’m ready to make a man out of you,” she said with a wink.  Angel’s brows drew together, and Buffy couldn’t read his expression.  Shyness stole over her, and she dropped onto his chest, arms burrowing under to wrap around him.

So much for taking charge.  There went her confidence – and her plan for seeing things through this time.

“I love you,” she said to his pectorals.

His arms came up around her.  “I love you too.”  He didn’t say anything else, and her trepidation increased.  Was he upset with her?

“Is – is this okay?”

Angel lifted her chin, so he could look her in the eyes.  “Waking up to the prettiest girl in the world in my bed?  Fantasy come true.”

“But?”

She could see the thoughts chasing around in his head.  Finally, he said, “I just don’t want to get too worked up.  In case…”

Buffy swallowed.  “I – I know.  Totally my bad.  But I figured out some stuff yesterday.  We’re good to go.  All systems go.”

“What did you-”

She cut him off.  “Let’s talk about it later.”  Sitting back up, she gave him a coy look.  “I have more important things to attend to.”

Angel flipped them over, kissing her deeply. 

_Whoa, morning breath._

Buffy ignored it.  All systems go.

 

 

Willow plopped down at one of the few clean tables left in the Sunnydale Mall food court, soft pretzel and drink in hand.  Buffy took the other chair.

“So?” the redhead said, eyebrow arched.  Buffy smirked around her cinnamon-dusted pretzel and didn’t say a word.  “I want answers, missy.  And details.  Although – not vivid details.  Nice, washed-out, fuzzy details.  Maybe just a… a single descriptive sentence that doesn’t describe much at all.”

“It was nice.”

Willow looked put out.  “Nice?  You finally lose your vi-  Your, _you know_ ,” she said, with a quick look around, “and all you can say is ‘nice’?”

Blushing, Buffy said, “ _Really_ nice.  Like, all morning, making up for lost time nice.”  She took a sip of her drink.  “The pain was less nice.  But that was only at first.  And, well… at the end, too.  I think we might have overdid it.”

“Hence the walking funny.”

“Oh God, did you notice that?  Shit, what if Mom notices?”

“Tell her you pulled a muscle.”

Buffy smacked herself in the forehead.  “Why didn’t I think of that?  Stupid Buffy brain.”

“Blame it on your morning,” Willow said.  Her tongue poked out in a naughty smirk.  “I’m sure it turned your brains to mush.”

“Very.  It’s like a big brain Slushee in there, all sloshing around.”  She thought about that, pretzel paused halfway to her mouth.  “Please ignore that imagery.”

“Gladly.  And here’s the other question… Did William make an appearance?”

Did William make an appearance?  William played a starring freaking role.  Buffy almost felt like she’d had a threesome that morning.  She didn’t seem to be able to kick him out of her head, so… may as well go with it, right?

“He was there, but I ignored him,” was all she said.  Best friends or not, some things you just didn’t share.

 

 

Rolling onto her belly, Buffy twisted to look at Angel.  “Wanna swim with me for a bit?”

He grunted, head moving fractionally from side to side.  She scooted closer and propped herself up on one arm, while the other came to rest on his long, tanned back.

“Don’t block the sun,” he mumbled, wriggling to shake off her arm. 

She frowned, then began to trail a fingertip up and down his spine, slow movements designed to arouse as she admired the sheen of his skin and his warm, male scent.  Basking in the sun was nice and all, but… she was bored.  Antsy.  Raring to do _something_ other than lay there.  And if that something included naughty fun time in the water, so much the better.  Okay, sure, there were other people around, but not on their end of the beach.  They could get frisky out in the ocean without anyone being the wiser.

“Thought we could play,” she whispered in his ear, letting her voice turn husky. 

Angel considered her suggestion with one squinted eye, stretched, his muscles bunching under her fingertips, then mumbled something about a late night at work and turned to face the other way.

Buffy did her best not to take it the wrong way.  She really did.  She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then lay back down on her towel, resigned to spending the morning doing nothing more rigorous than working on her tan.  Not that her tan needed any work.  It really didn’t.  She and Angel had spent most of the summer at the beach, and now, with the start of the fall semester drawing near, Buffy Summers would be the very model of a golden California girl well into next spring.

_May as well have stayed and helped Mom at the gallery today._

Despite her best efforts not to worry about it, her eyes still prickled with tears.  June had been an amazing month.  Buffy had embraced her new status as Angel’s lover with gusto, and Angel couldn’t seem to get enough of her in return.  As best she could figure, the shine had worn off for him, though… because as often as not, her boyfriend was the one who had to be talked into bed.  She didn’t _think_ she was a bad lover.  Any time she asked him about it, he set her fears to rest, telling her she was great, everything he could ask for. 

_So maybe something is wrong with me.  That I want more._

She liked sex well enough.  Okay, it wasn’t perfect every time… or even often.  Orgasms were elusive, but she figured that was because she was new at it.  She needed more practice.  The problem was, Angel wasn’t providing opportunities for practice.

Perfect or not, orgasms or not, Buffy still enjoyed the closeness she felt with the man she loved, when they were wrapped up in each other, moving together, looking into each other’s eyes.  She’d waited so long to be with Angel, to be his everything, and now she was going to leave for school in a few weeks.  Was she crazy for wanting to take advantage of every moment together?

Buffy pulled out a book and flipped the pages desultorily while another hour passed, until Angel sat up to stretch.  “I’m sorry I’m such a bear, sweetheart.  It was another crazy night at the Bronze, though.  Takes a lot out of an old man like me, you know?” he said with an apologetic smile.  He rolled his shoulders.  “You still up for that swim?”

Just like that, all her fears vanished.  Of course that’s all it was.  Working the Bronze every night was exhausting him.

_Stupid, needy Buffy_.

She gave him a brilliant smile.  “Last one in has to buy ice cream later!”

 

 

They were driving home when she suddenly remembered.  “Oh hey, where were you yesterday morning?”  Buffy had her feet up on the dash, one hand on Angel’s knee.

“Yesterday?”  Angel frowned.

“Yeah, I stopped by to bring you some breakfast in bed, make sure you were up in time to make it to your summer seminar.”  She’d brought him a large cup of his favorite coffee, knowing he’d had to work the night before.  Buffy had figured her present would not go unappreciated, especially with the hour plus drive to UCLA he had ahead of him.  When she’d tiptoed into his room, though, it had been empty.  Without any sign he’d even slept in it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d found his bed empty in the last few weeks.  Buffy had been afraid to bring it up, not wanting him to think she was jealous or clingy, or worse, stalkerish.  He’d given her a key to his apartment, which implied she could drop by anytime, but…

Angel snapped his fingers.  “Oh!  Gunn, from school, you remember him?”  Buffy nodded.  “He stopped by the Bronze.  And he got to drinking… so I drove him home and crashed there.  Which worked out well, since he’s only minutes from campus.  I would’ve called you to let you know, but I didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.  Though you’re so gorgeous, maybe you could have stood to be woken up.  Better than leaving my girl to worry, right?”  He smiled at her, brilliant white teeth gleaming, and laced his fingers with hers.  When he picked her hand up and kissed it lovingly, eyes back on the road, she melted, right into a puddle of goo. 

A gooey puddle that still felt a prickle of worry.

“Do… you do that often?  Drive friends home?” she wondered aloud.  Because that would explain the other time he hadn’t been there.

Angel glanced at her, his face blank.  Then he shrugged.  “Yeah.  Now and then.  I’d hate to find out somebody I knew got in an accident when I could’ve prevented it.  Don’t tell anyone though.”  He shot her a crooked smile.  “People find out I’m such a softie, they’ll all be expecting me to play taxi for them.  Not what I want to be doing every night.  I miss my bed and it makes me all grouchy.”

She sighed and switched positions so she could snuggle under his arm, all her fears set to rest.  Did she have the sweetest, most thoughtful, handsomest boyfriend ever, or what?

 

 

Giles wandered out of the back area, cup of tea in hand.  “Well, that certainly looks festive.”  He nodded at the decorations Buffy and Willow were putting up.

Buffy walked over to where he stood so she could admire the effect.  “It’s going to be the shindig to end all shindigs.”  Eyes wide, she looked down at her legs.  “That doesn’t sound terribly pleasant.  What exactly will be digging into our shins?”  She shot Giles a worried look and crossed one leg in front of the other.  “Come to think of it, I veto any shindigging.”

“Dear lord, please tell me all our hours studying the spoken word were not wasted.”

Her lower lip crept out.  “I got into college, didn’t I?”  

Giles softened, clasping a hand to her shoulder.  “With a well-deserved scholarship, no less.  Tell me, are you still considering taking your degree in English?”

Toeing the ground, she nodded.  “I… I like the classes, surprisingly enough.  And I seem to be doing well.  Better than in high school, at any rate,” she added, grimacing.

He chuckled.  “Yes, well, I suspect your professors appreciate your unique take on the English language.”

“But I’ve got mad writing skills!  Even if it comes out of my mouth all garbled.  I can rearrange until it makes sense on paper.  And, you know, the stories with all the old-timey English are a bit hard, but I don’t do too badly with them, thanks to my wonderful mentor.”

Running a hand over his hair, Giles said, “Please continue.  I do enjoy a good pandering to my ego.”

“Pander later,” Willow called.  “Decorate now.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled.  “Panda-ing your ego?  Huh?”

Giles sighed.  “And there’s the humbling I so richly deserve.”

 

 

Buffy slid herself under Angel’s arm, and waited for him to finish talking to his friends.  “Let’s go dance,” she said when he glanced at her.

“You know I don’t dance, Buff.”

“Come on,” she pleaded.  “Just one dance?  I’ll ask the guys to play a slow one, so all you have to do is stand there and sway with me.”

“Go on, dance with your girl.  It’s your birthday,” one of his friends urged.

Still Angel hesitated, so Buffy slid out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes.  “All right, all right,” he said, laughing.  “Don’t blame me when I stomp on your feet.”

She dragged him to the dance floor, and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend.  “You having a good time?”

“Wonderful.  You did a great job.  You really have a knack for this.”

“Probably all those years of helping Mom set up for her art gallery shin… parties.”

Angel dropped a kiss on her head, swaying slowly with her despite the energetic beat of the song.  “This will be nice when we’re married.  To know my hostess needs will be in such capable hands.”

“As long as we get to cater in, right?  ‘Cause cooking?  I don’t know if that’s a skill I’m going to be perfecting anytime soon.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect, I guess.  Not even you.  I suppose I’ll keep you though.”

Buffy laughed and held him tighter.

When the next song started up, he gave her such a pleading look, she shook her head and let him leave the dance floor.  He took her hand and pulled her along behind him.

“Hey there, sugar plum.  Those were quite the moves you had out there on the dance floor,” a man said to Angel.  A man sporting a loud yellow suit, with a sky blue shirt and a deep purple tie.  “John Travolta better watch his back.”

“Oh, and you can do better?”

“You bet your sweet patootie I can.  Maybe I should take your girl here for a spin, show her how it’s done.”

“This girl here doesn’t dance with just anybody,” Buffy cut in, annoyed at being left out of the conversation.  And slightly worried that this brightly dressed man was hitting on her boyfriend.  “Especially not ones with such a deplorable fashion sense.”

He laughed, hands held high.  “Youch!  Better hang on to this one Angel-cakes, or I’ll be there waiting to sweep her off her feet.”  Bowing to Buffy, he took her hand and kissed the back of it.  “Enchantée, Mademoiselle.  Lorne, at your service.  Shall you and I go show this big palooka how it’s done?”

She hesitated, but Angel tipped his head towards the dance floor.  “Go on, you’ll have more fun out there with Lorne, and we both know it.”  She was about to refuse, but then the opening chords of her favorite Dingoes song started up.

“All right.  Sure.” 

Lorne led her back to center of the floor.  “This is the perfect jiving song,” he told her.  “You know how?”

“A little.  But jive?  To _this_?”

“Oh sure, cream puff.  Let Lorne show you how it’s done.”

By the end of the song, she had to agree with him.  Oz, seeing her and Lorne out there, nudged Devon, and the band segued into an oldie, nothing like their usual style.  Buffy waved at them in appreciation, thrilled when Willow and Xander appeared beside her, Xander trying to jive but instead stepping all over his partner.  Lorne traded with him, twirling Willow about until she looked like an expert while Buffy tried to manage her friend’s big feet.

When the band announced a break, Lorne wiped his brow.  “Now that was a hoot!  Come, I’ll treat you lovely ladies to the tastiest creation known to mankind.  You too big fella,” he said with a nod to Xander.

“I’m good, man,” Xander said.

“Your loss.”  Lorne led them to the bar, and ordered three Sea Breezes. 

“Oh, we’re underage-” Willow began, but Buffy cut her off.

“Tell the nice man thank you.”

Willow pursed her lips.  “Buffy.  Alcohol.  Not mixy.  You’re the one who said, and I quote, ‘ _Don’t ever let me touch another drink in my life, Will’_.  Unquote.”

“Pfft, that was years ago.  I’m older and wiser now, and it’s only one.”

Lorne handed her a glass.  “That’s the spirit, crumb cake.  One refreshing beverage won’t hurt you in the least, and you absolutely need to taste this.  Heaven in a glass.”  He gave his own drink an appreciative sip.

“Cheers.”  She clinked her glass with Lorne, then Willow, who only raised her eyebrows.  “One, that’s all.”

Four Sea Breezes later, Buffy tottered up the stairs to the stage to whisper in Oz’s ear.

 


	5. Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my official beta, Science, and my un-official betas: 3hours, PeaceHeather, and Chatzy. :) And thanks to KnifeEdge for chapter title help. She rocks.
> 
> If you're not digging the pre-Spuffy, chapter seven (which I'll post Monday) will be the chapter for you. And every chapter thereafter!

 

Spike strummed his guitar, humming along with it and pausing occasionally to write something down.  After repeating the same few bars at least a dozen times, he grunted in frustration, set his guitar down, and dragged his fingers through his hair, leaving it in a disarray of short, spiky, bleached blond tufts.  He stood and stretched, tight black tee sliding up to expose the taut flesh of his abdomen, which he scratched at absently.  After a quick glance at the clock, he tucked the notebook he’d been writing in under a stack of other books, then pulled out a different one and flipped through it.

Finding the page he wanted, he sat back down, humming a different melody.  It was the one he and Rupert had been working on back in California.  Spike had mostly ignored it since then, caught up in dealing with his mother’s estate and reconnecting with his band mates.  And Drusilla.  She’d monopolized the majority of his free time on his return, expecting him to make up for his long absence.

Not that Spike much minded.  He adored his girlfriend.  How could he not?  She’d seen the man he could be, brought him out of his shell.  Sure, she was dotty and demanding, possessive, and flirtatious with all the wrong sorts, but she loved him just the same.  He smiled as his mind drifted back to the day they’d met.

He’d been sitting under a tree on the far edge of campus, where hardly anyone ever wandered.  Secure in the thought that he was alone, William had played his guitar, singing along in a low voice – first the traditional songs he’d learned under the tutelage of his instructors, then the music he preferred, songs like those his uncle had played, back when he’d been Ripper. 

When a girl appeared, a sloe-eyed beauty who swayed and bent like an ethereal fairy, William stopped short, frozen.  Dappled sunlight shone in her raven hair as she continued her otherworldly dance, uncaring that complete silence reigned in the small clearing.  Her gauzy, billowy cream dress floated about her until she paused directly in front of William, head cocked curiously to one side.  “Why did you stop, my pretty boy?  Pretty music from such a pretty mouth.  The stars have a companion in you.”

His eyebrows shot straight up to hide under the unruly curls falling in his face, and William pulled off his glasses, unsure as to whether or not he hoped she would disappear once he looked upon her with his naked gaze.

“E- excuse me?  Miss?”

She bent forward, placing a hand over his heart.  “I see you, hiding in there.  Waiting for me to show you the heavens.”

And that had been it.  She’d offered him her hand, and dazed, he’d taken it.  She’d been his guiding star ever since, molding him into Spike, much to his delight and his mother’s dismay.

It hadn’t been his music or even his new and improved appearance that had dismayed Anne Pratt; she’d actually been a fan of both, telling her son that she did grow up with Ripper as a brother, after all.  No, what Anne had objected to was how Drusilla, in encouraging William’s inner rock star, had also encouraged him to cut any ties with his past.  He’d scraped out his degree in classics at uni – barely – then given up his post-graduate position in favor of pursuing fame and fortune.  Along with his new lifestyle had come the usual accompaniments – wild parties, binge drinking, smoking.  A hard, fast life, of which his mother had already seen the consequences with her brother’s friends.  She didn’t want that for her only child.

William – now Spike – had reassured her that he would remain in control, telling his beloved mother that he was having fun for the first time in his life.  When she had persisted in asking him to reconsider his choices, he’d railed at her for denying him his freedom and happiness.  She’d shaken her head and said that poor choices were neither freedom nor happiness.  Anne had once gone so far as to say that that ‘trollop’ he was dating would be his downfall, and Spike hadn’t spoken to her for an entire month after.  Drusilla had been thrilled with the development, telling Spike that she was his mummy now.

It hadn’t lasted.  Much as he loved his dark princess, Spike wasn’t comfortable with the daft notion of calling her Mummy, especially when he had an actual mum that he missed.  And loved with all his heart, despite their recent disagreements.  When Anne had turned ill not long after, he’d been grateful that he hadn’t put off reconciliation.  Thinking on it now made the ache in his chest flare up once more, and he poured his grief and gratitude into the lyrics of the song.

He was just putting the finishing touches on it when Drusilla walked in, groceries in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.  “Hello, my darling, wicked boy,” she called out, and Spike rose to greet her with a kiss, then took the bags from her hand.  “Is your Mummy dearest resting peacefully, or shall she be joining us for dinner tonight?” 

It was one of those nutty questions he had no idea how to answer.  He didn’t bother trying.  “I talked to Charlie a bit ago,” Spike said instead.  “Looks like the gig Friday night at Half Moon is definitely on.”

Drusilla clapped and pulled him close, twining herself around him.  “And now my Spike really is back.”

 

 

Buffy stumbled over the wires taped to the floor as she weaved her way to the microphone, where she had a hurried conversation with Devon.  Devon shrugged, then spoke into the mike.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:  Buffy Summers, singing a special song for her boy-”

She elbowed him out of the way.  “Singing for the man I love with all my heart – Angel!”  She waved brightly at him as he tried to shrink back into the shadows, causing several snickers to erupt in the crowd.  “Hey baby!  Happy Birthday!”  He shook his head, face thunderous, but Buffy ignored him.  He could be a sourpuss all he wanted.  After her third Sea Breeze, the idea had come to her, and after her fourth – and the bawdy encouragement of several of Angel’s friends – she was certain it was the bestest plan ever.  She loved to sing.  She loved Angel.  So she would sing for him.  It made perfect sense, right?

Angel didn’t seem to think so.  Instead of hiding, he now pushed his way up to the stage.  “Buffy!  Get down from there!” he hissed. 

She frowned.  “Just one-”

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself!”

Her back stiffened.  Who the hell was Angel to order her about like a small child?  She would sing, goddammit.  And then he would see that she was right, and he was wrong.

She turned to the man beside her.  “Ready?”

Devon shot a nervous glance at the furious man standing below him.  “Uh, maybe later,” he said, trying to take the mike back from her.

Her eyes narrowed, and her spine straightened further.  She set her feet, trying to balance better on the slowly spinning stage, and grabbed the microphone away with a snarl.  “Buffy sings _now._ ”

Oz had come up behind them.  “Sure thing, Cave Buffy.  You sing now.”

That tickled her funny bone, and she snorted.  “See?” she said to Angel.  “Oz gets it.”  She nodded at the rest of the band, and Devon shrugged as the chords to ‘Happy Birthday’ rang out.

Angel hovered, fists clenched, reminding her of a trapped animal.  It hurt to look at him, so Buffy stared out at the crowd instead. 

Whoa.  Big mistake.  Eyeballs.  Lots and lots of eyeballs, some curious, some amused, and all focused on her.  She squeaked.

“Just like show choir.  You can do this,” Oz whispered in her ear, then began sing in a low voice.  “Happy Birthday to you…” 

Devon joined in, and from somewhere over to the left, Lorne shouted, “Show us those pipes, Goldilocks!”  Oz nodded, never missing a note on his guitar.  She looked out at the crowd one more time, and caught sight of Willow and Xander’s faces.  They both nodded encouragingly, Willow shooting her double thumbs up.

Right.  She _could_ do this.  Buffy closed her eyes, ignoring the crowd, then brought the mike to her mouth as Devon began the refrain for a second time.  She started out breathy, her ‘Happy Birthday to you’ barely loud enough to hear over the man beside her, but gained confidence with every word.  By the time she was done, she was belting out the words alongside Devon.  As the music died away, the applause was deafening.  She opened her eyes, and was greeted with the sight of Lorne and Angel’s other friends whistling their approval.

_See?  Great plan!_

Buffy dropped her gaze to Angel.  His lips were so thin she could barely see them, and he bristled with rage.  She stared at him, confused.  How could he still be angry?  He whirled and shoved his way through the crowd.  Buffy pressed the mike into Devon’s hand and tried to jump down after him, but she stumbled and rolled ungracefully off the front end of the stage onto the ground below.  Several arms reached out to help her up, but she ignored them, chasing after her boyfriend.  “Angel, wait!”

He didn’t slow down until he reached the alley.  “What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted when she caught up to him.

Her brain cleared a little.  “I was thinking I was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to my boyfriend.  On his birthday.  I didn’t realize it was a screaming offence.”

“Fine, sing it around our table.  Or at home.  Not up on a stage, in front of all those people.  You embarrassed me in front of my friends.”

She took a step backwards.  “I – I embarrassed you?  By singing?”

“No, by being drunk and out of control.  By not listening to good sense.  By prancing around up on stage like a… like a floozy.  Those men are going to be my business associates someday, and _if_ we get married, _this_ is how they’ll remember you.”

She took another step backwards.  “They were clapping.  And cheering.  It wasn’t-”

Angel laughed, but it was an ugly sound.  “Baby, they cheer like that for the strippers at the tittie bars.”

A part of her wondered how he knew how his friends behaved at strip clubs, but it was shoved to the side by the screaming, gnawing hollow feeling that had taken over, leaving her shaking.  “What… what do you mean _if_ we get married?” she asked in a tiny, hurt voice.

His shoulders slumped.  Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he said, “I… I’m just angry right now, okay?  It’d probably be better if you left me alone for a bit.  Go on back inside, have Willow take you home or something.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But… your party… and I was supposed to go…” 

_With you._

Angel didn’t answer.  Eventually Buffy gave up and went inside, still trying to work out what had happened.  Drunk or not, she couldn’t see how she’d done anything wrong.

The fun didn’t end there.  Giles cornered her in the hallway.  “Buffy, have you been drinking?”

_Busted._ “Maybe a little?”

He radiated disappointment.  “You are an adult, and must make your choices accordingly.  However, as an adult, you must also realize that there are consequences to your actions.  You are still a minor according to the law, and have placed me in a position to be held accountable for your intoxication.  As such, I must ask you to leave the premises.”

It took her a moment to process all his words.  “I’m not intoxi- toxi… drunk, Giles.  I only had… a drink.  Or three.”

“Yes, well, as a young lady yet to reach her twenty-first year, it rather should have been zero.  Would you prefer I call you a cab or your mother?  Either way, you’ve endangered my business license and cannot remain here.  You know the penalties I face if I don’t strictly enforce the drinking laws, Buffy.”

Buffy had the good grace to look abashed.  “I’ll… I’ll…”

Angel had come up behind them, and he took hold of her arm, glowering.  “I’ll take her home, Mr. Giles.  Just let me collect her things.”

She walked mutely beside her boyfriend, following him back to the table where Willow and Xander sat.  “Sounding great up there, Buffster!” Xander said, but Willow silenced him with a look.

The redhead sent a nervous glance Angel’s way.  “Buffy?  Is everything okay?”  Buffy nodded, and continued to gather her things.  “Are… are you guys going home?”

“ _She_ is,” Angel replied with a jerk of his head.  “I’ll be back.”

Buffy could feel Willow’s concerned eyes on her.  “It’s no big.  Giles is on the no-drunk-Buffys allowed warpath.  Which, not feeling so buzzed anymore, but…”

“Yeah, he’s a stickler about that,” Willow said.

Buffy nodded.  “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.  Thanks for…”  She waved her hand at the decorations and spun to leave.  The Bronze tilted around her, and she grabbed the back of a chair to right herself.

In the car, neither of them spoke until they reached Buffy’s house.  “Thanks for the ride,” she said quietly.  Angel only grunted.  The sick feeling in the pit of her belly grew.  “Angel?  We’re not… breaking up, are we?  Because I know I acted a little crazy, but…”

He sighed.  “No, of course not.  You’re my best girl, Buffy.  One crazy night isn’t going to change that.”  He turned to look at her, eyes far warmer than earlier, and the sick feeling disappeared.  Well, the sick, _worried_ feeling.  Not the sick _I-drank-too-much_ feeling.  “I – I was just surprised, okay?  To see you up there.  That’s not what I expected from you.  I overreacted, you overreacted…  It’s over now.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around him.  “I’m sorry.”  He squeezed her back.  “You going to come in?  I can make it up to you.  With birthday kisses.”  She kissed him hungrily, relieved they weren’t fighting anymore.  They’d never argued before, not like _this_ ,and Buffy was desperate to reassure herself it was really over.

He kissed her back for a minute, then said, “I have to get back, baby.  The guys are expecting me.  I _am_ the star of the party, after all.”

“Pshaw, they probably won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“They will, once the Bronze closes and they have nowhere to go.  They’re crashing at my place, remember?”

Buffy nodded.  “Fine, go be a good host.  I’m just going to go upstairs and sleep it off, I guess.”  She kissed him once more.  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Forget about it.”

She climbed out of the car, then poked her head back in.  “Was I bad, though?  When I sang?  I sounded good, right?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Angel smiled at her.  “Sure, baby.  You sounded great.  I wouldn’t give up college anytime soon though, all right?”  She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he waved her off.  “I gotta get back.  Go on to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow sometime.”

 

 

It was a very subdued Buffy that walked into the Bronze late the next morning.  “Hey guys.”  She raised a dispirited hand to Willow and Giles, who were up on ladders taking down the decorations.  “I see you started without me.”

“We weren’t sure when you’d make it in.”  Willow climbed down and hurried over to her.  “How you feeling today?”

“More than a little foolish.  Did I make a fool of myself last night?  Up on stage?”

Willow shook her head.  “No, Buffy!  I mean, little surprised, but you sounded great.  Once you got over the wild-eyed staring.”

Giles joined them.  “Your show choir director is right, you have talent, my dear.”  He took off his glasses, and began to polish them.  “You do understand why I had to ask you to leave, Buffy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  It was my bad.  I blame Willow.”  She glared at her friend.  “You were supposed to stop me.”

“Whoa, you were supposed to stop yourself.  Besides, no way was I getting in between you and whatever you were drinking.  There was actual growling involved when I tried to take it away.”

“I did not growl!  Did I?”

“Little bit.”

“Huh.  Well, lesson definitely learned.  Buffy and alcohol are so very with the not mixy.”  She put a hand to her pounding head and gave the ladders an uneasy look.  “Just point me to some cleaning that involves terra firma rather than the crow’s nest.”

When the Bronze was back to normal, she and Willow walked downtown, heading for the Espresso Pump.  “I can’t believe we’re all going back to school this weekend,” Willow said.  “Seems like the summer just started.”

“It’s been a good summer, though.”

Willow sent her a sidelong glance.  “Has it?  Everything’s good?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it…  Oh.  You mean last night.”  Buffy shrugged.  “Angel and I sorted everything before he dropped me off last night.  We’re good.”  They ordered their food and sat outside, on a bench in the shade, before Buffy spoke again.  “He didn’t much like my singing, though.”

“Who – Oh, Angel?  Pffft, well he’s crazy then.  You and Devon together?  It sounded really good, Buffy.  Amazing, even.”

“You think so?”  She tried to keep the insecurity out of her voice, but she couldn’t help it.  Rolling Angel’s words around in her mind all morning… well, he must have be telling the truth, right?  Why else would he say that to her?

“Abso-positively.  You should totally think about singing with the Dingoes.  Next summer, I guess, seeing as you’re leaving in a few days.”  Buffy nodded, gratified by her friend’s praise, but she didn’t trust Willow to be one hundred percent honest with her.  Full support on all endeavors –it was a key part of the Best Friend Manifesto.  She would tell Buffy her singing voice was amazing even if it was merely average.  Angel, though…

If he said not to quit college to pursue a singing career, it had to be for a good reason.

 


	6. Trading Futures

Buffy hummed as she carried her package up the stairs to her dorm room.  One month into the new semester, and she was seriously missing her mom’s homemade cookies.  She slit the seal and dumped everything on her bed, packing peanuts flying everywhere.  With an “Mmm-mmm-mmm” to herself, she opened the cookie tin.  And froze.  What…?

Spying the note, she picked it up. 

_“Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t have time to bake this week.  Dawn volunteered to do it for me, wasn’t that thoughtful of her?”_

She gazed at the mutant cookies with disgust.  Knowing her sister’s lack of culinary skills, they probably tasted as bad as they looked.  With a sigh, she pushed everything back into the box, then opened her letter from Angel and settled onto her bed with a smile on her face.

By the time she’d penned a reply, sealing it up with a lipsticked kiss and a spritz of Angel’s favorite perfume, it was time for her next class.  She double-checking that her poetry text was in her shoulder bag and headed to class with a spring in her step.  She was looking forward to reading Tennyson this week.  Thinking of the poet reminded her of the man she’d met last spring…  William, wasn’t it?  She frowned when she realized his face was blurry in her mind.  How could that be?  After actively starring in her fantasies only several weeks ago, it surprised her that the details were fuzzy. 

Dismayed, she stood the side of the path, eyes closed, trying to recall William’s visage.  Beyond the wild curls, the remembrance of sharp cheekbones, and an idea of blue eyes so vivid they took your breath away, she’d lost his face.  Buffy rubbed her eyes, not sure if she felt a pang of regret… or relief.  Of _course_ it had been no more than a crush.  How childish she’d been to think there’d been some kind of connection with a man she barely knew.

She continued on to class, more glad than ever she’d said no to his offer of coffee.  How could she have ever considered endangering her relationship with Angel over a man she could barely recall months later?

 

 

“Who is this golden goddess of the library?”

Spike’s head whipped up from tuning his guitar to find an enraged Drusilla waving a notebook at him. 

“Huh?” was his eloquent reply.  His mind caught up moments later, recognizing the cheerful yellow notebook as the one with the song about _her_.  About Buffy. 

The golden goddess of the library. 

He contemplated admitting it for a moment.  An insane moment.  Drusilla wouldn’t understand the girl had been the inspiration for a song, nothing more.  “What are you on about?”

“Lies!” she hissed.  “All lies!  _This_ ,” she said, shaking the spiral-bound book, “went with you to the new land.  Took you away from me.  _She_ took you away from me, didn’t she?”

He stood, hands raised in a placating gesture.  “Don’t be daft, love.  Here I am, all yours.  Nobody to take me away from you, not now or then.  You know that.”  He held his hand out for his book.  “Let’s see what’s got you so upset, shall we?”

Drusilla’s eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped even lower.  “Yes.  Let’s see.  _‘Surrounded by stories, surreal and sublime, I fell in love in the library once upon a time.’_ ”  She twisted away from his outstretched hand.  “Who is she, this love of yours?”

Spike refrained from telling her she was completely off her bird.  That never went over well.  “No love of mine, pet.  Just an idea, s’all.  Something I saw on the telly one night, you know how it goes.  Not all songs are about the real world, Dru.”  He felt a little queasy, lying to Drusilla like that, but…  Spike rationalized it by telling himself he’d never fallen in love with Buffy, so…  It wasn’t a lie.  The song wasn’t about a real-life event.  He could barely even remember the chit, anyhow.  Six plus months had mostly erased the memory of a girl he’d known for less than an hour.

No, the girl in the song was no love of his.

 

 

“Are you n-n-nervous?” Tara asked. 

Buffy grabbed the shy, blonde girl’s hand.  “God, yes.  Bad enough when it’s people I don’t know, but _Angel_ is out there.”

“Y-you’ll be great.  If I can d-do this…”

Gulping, Buffy nodded, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach.  Tara was the one who had talked her into joining show choir in the first place.  She had been in a couple of Buffy’s freshman classes, a quiet, pretty girl with a nervous stutter who rarely spoke up in class.  Buffy had seen her on the quad one day, handing out flyers and trying to recruit other students to join show choir.  She had been surprised that Tara, who did her best not to draw attention to herself, would be involved in an activity that put her in the spotlight.  So surprised, in fact, she had rather rudely asked the shy woman how she ever managed to sing in front of other people.

Tara hadn’t taken offence, used to people’s astonishment.  She’d explained show choir was an amazing, fun experience, where even somebody with her disability could shine.  The other girl’s obvious passion had convinced Buffy to give it a go, despite her previous humiliating choir experience.

Buffy adjusted her hair one last time, then squeezed Tara’s hand.  “How do I look?”

“L-like an angel.  You’ll knock him d-dead.”

She closed her eyes, too queasy to reply.  What if Angel still thought she wasn’t any good?

“Places,” somebody hissed, and then there was no time to worry anymore.  Under the spotlight, it was impossible to pick out any one audience member, so Buffy kept her smile wide, letting her gaze roam over the entire audience.  After cheerleading her way through high school, the dance routines were simple enough that she didn’t have to put much thought into them;  instead she concentrated on her voice, trying to inject the songs they’d chosen for their Valentine’s Day recital with as much feeling as she could muster.  Knowing Angel was out there made it harder than she’d thought.  The idea of singing for him reminded her of the fight they’d had on his birthday, of his anger, and even now, tears threatened at the memory.  Buffy held them back until they reached the ballad about heartbreak, and then she let the tears work for her, pouring her grief into the song.

As the choir came to the end of their final number – a much happier selection – Buffy’s misgivings faded away.  The audience’s applause when they took their final bows was proof enough they had nailed the performance.  She bowed once more, relishing the feel of the sweat running down her back as they stood under the hot lights.  She was sticky, yes, and a little stinky, too – but it was a sure sign she’d worked for that applause.

The curtains fell, and Buffy turned to Tara, high-fiving her.  “ _That_ was incredible.”

“Y-yes it was!”

Buffy turned to hug some of the other girls, but instead of trooping off to the dressing room after them, she bounded down the back stairs, heading for the audience.  Angel’s dark head bobbed above the crowd.  She rushed to his side and snuck her hand into his.  He jerked in surprise, but smiled down at her when he saw who it was.

“So?  Whaddidja think?”  Buffy was still high from the energy up on the stage, and she bounced and jiggled next to him as the crowd worked its way out of the auditorium.  “Were we awesome, or were we awesome?”

“Hmmm, what were the choices again?”  His eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand.  He let go so he could wrap his arm around her, hand snaking across her sweaty back and then pulling away.  “ _Ew_.”

 _Oops_. 

“Sorry.”  She grimaced apologetically.  “I was too excited to shower first.  Or change.  Or worry about the grossness that is me.”

He tugged her along by her hand.  “Gross is right.  Why don’t you pretty yourself up, and then we can head out for our real Valentine’s Day celebration, what do you say?”

_What do I say?  Um…  Did you mean to be such a big, dismissive jerk?_

“You didn’t like it?”

Angel frowned at her.  “Well, sure I did, babe.  It was… cute.  Loved the, uh, what do you call ‘em – spaz hands.”

“ _Jazz_ hands.”

“Yeah, that,” Angel replied, eyes forward, scanning the crowd for the best way out, obviously not paying attention to her.

She pulled her hand out of his.  “I have to run back to the dressing room and grab my stuff.  I’ll see you outside.”  There wasn’t anything she actually needed, since Tara had offered to grab her things, but the wonderful, floaty high was quickly fading under Angel’s disinterest.  Buffy hurried away before he could protest, trying to tell herself that just because he wasn’t gushing with excitement didn’t mean he didn’t care.  Angel wasn’t a gusher, that was all.

And besides, how many times had she tuned out when he’d gone into some involved story about… well, whatever he was talking about.  Back in the dressing room, she changed her shirt and cleaned up as best she could, positive she was being overly-sensitive.  How could she be mad at him for forgetting her impromptu lesson on jazz hands when she had to keep his schedule posted to her wall in order to remember what boring old classes he was taking this semester?

Feeling better, especially after a few quick minutes with her friends, Buffy strode back outside, head held high.  She reminded herself that Angel had chosen to miss class this week, just to be with her on Valentine’s Day.  How could she doubt he cared?

 

 

Buffy took a deep breath.  She was calm.  Her feelings were not hurt.  Angel was only looking out for her.

“You’re right,” she said.  “Probably better if I don’t have a glass of wine, because once the lush in me gets started, whoa boy.  One becomes two, two becomes five, and then you have to scrape Buffy off the floor.”

He beamed at her.  “Exactly!  Don’t forget what happened at my birthday party.  Don’t want a repeat of that!”

Even though she was seething inside, she kept her tone light.  “Wouldn’t want me to get up on the table of this very nice restaurant and start singing.  Like a stripper.”

He didn’t catch her tone.  “That’s my girl.  See how sensible you are when we keep you out of the booze?”

“Hmm.  Right.”  She picked at her napkin for a while, then picked at her food when it arrived, appetite gone.  “So, do you think you’ll come out and see our end-of-the-year concert?  It’s going to be a big production.  I’ve even got a solo.”

Angel raised his eyebrows, bite of steak paused halfway to his mouth.  “They gave you a solo?”

“You think I don’t deserve one?”

“Oh sure, sure!  Of course my girl deserves a solo.  Bet you’ll be cute as a button, prancing around up there on stage.”

“And that’s my whole goal, to be cute.”  Buffy pushed her plate away.  “So how ‘bout it, you going to come see me in all my cute, button-y glory?”

Angel hemmed and hawed and said he’d have to check his schedule.  “I mean, really Buffy, that’s a lot of money to spend, just to see you sing.  It’s not like it’s something important.”

“No,” she said.  “I guess it’s not.  Are you done?  I’m ready to go.”

He frowned.  “Are you mad?”

Buffy shook her head.  She didn’t want to fight, not on Valentine’s Day.  Not when they so rarely saw each other.  “Nope.  Just, uh… tired.  After the concert.”  She faked a yawn.  “We’d better go if you want the full Valentine’s Day experience, otherwise I’ll fall asleep, and you won’t even get to unwrap your present.”

His eyes lit up.  “Would that be a Buffy-shaped present?”

 _Fake it ‘til you feel it, girl._   She made herself smile.  “It just might be.” _Or maybe a Buffy-shaped fist_. 

Once in the car, headed for Angel’s hotel, Buffy realized faking it wasn’t going to be an option.  She couldn’t let her disappointment and anger go.  She’d worked hard on tonight’s performance, and the end-of-the-year show was definitely going to be a very big deal.  Something that was important to her, no matter what her boyfriend thought.

“I really want you to come in May.  For our concert.  It _is_ important to me, Angel.  I’ll even help pay for your gas money to get here, if that’s the problem.”  She looked at him expectantly.  “It would mean a lot to me.”

Angel pulled the car over to the side of the road, letting it idle as he turned to look at her.  “But _why_?” 

Searching his face, Buffy could see he wasn’t trying to belittle her.  He honestly didn’t understand.  “It just _is_.  I’ve worked really hard at show choir.  It’s fun, and… I don’t know.  You’re my boyfriend and I want you there.”

“I get that you’ve worked hard at it.  But it’s just a hobby, Buff.  One that you’ll have forgotten you were ever interested in a couple years from now.  And really, is singing and dancing up on stage the best use of your free time?  It’s nice to have a hobby, but… why not find a more useful one?  What good are spaz hands ever going to be to you?”

Buffy stared at him.  Did he really just say she was wasting her time doing something she loved?

“It’s _jazz_ hands,” she replied woodenly.  “And okay, maybe I’ll never make money at it, but I _like_ singing and dancing up on stage.  I didn’t know a hobby was supposed to be _productive_.  Is playing racquetball a useful hobby?” she asked, latching on to his passion.

Angel rolled his eyes.  “Well, _yeah_.  Sports are… exercise.  Good for coordination, and health…”

“ _This_ is exercise!  Did you not notice the sweat?  And I’m already doing kick-boxing, I don’t need another sport.”

“You know, whatever.  You’re right, it’s not a complete waste of our time.”  He twisted to look behind the car, then pulled back out into traffic, leaving Buffy to fume in silence before he added, “Besides, business deals are made all the time on the racquetball court.  And the golf course.  You going to make any business deals in show choir?  Use your _jazz_ hands to seal the deal?”

Buffy considered throttling him, but seeing as he was driving now, settled for clenching her fists instead.  “ _I’m_ not going into business, Angel, you are.  I don’t need to be making business deals.  You know I declared English as my major this semester.”

“Oh yes, I forgot.  The ever-useful English degree.  Nice to know I’ll be supporting you for the rest of our lives.”

“ _What!?_   No you won’t,” she spluttered, furious.  “Is that what you really think of me?  That I’m some kind of gold-digging underachiever?”

“Well, what else are you going to do with an English degree, Buffy?  I mean really?”  Each word that fell from his mouth cut her to the quick.  “You know I have no problem with you being a stay-at-home mom, if you want.  _You’re_ the one who always says you want more in life, but I don’t see you making the kinds of choices that will get you there.”  The light ahead turned red, and he came to a screeching halt before turning to give her a look.  “I guess an English degree would be useful for reading to our kids.”

“Funny how right now, having kids with you is the furthest thing from my mind,” Buffy ground out, fists clenched tight.  They glared at each other until a car behind them honked.

Angel stomped on the gas, and his car shot forward with a screech of tires.  Buffy gasped, but he only gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles turning white.

“Take me home,” she said, and Angel cut a hard right, prompting another car to slam its brakes and blare its horn.  “Without killing us first.”

“Isn’t this just fucking swell,” he muttered.  “I cut class, drive all the way out here, sit through the most boring event of my life, and now you don’t even want to put out.  Figures.”

“You did _not_ just say that.”

He squealed around another corner.  “Guess I did.”

“How could you be so crude?  Is that all that matters to you?”

Angel snorted.  “Sure, Buff.  That’s all I care about.  Because I did not wait over a year for you to be ready to give it up to me.  I sure as hell wasn’t patient every time you had an attack of the virginal vapors.  Excuse me for being disappointed that we won’t be making love tonight, when we’ve been planning this day for months.”  He slammed to a halt in front of her dorm.  “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day, babe.  See you next summer.”

Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks.  If she wasn’t so goddamn furious herself, she might have been willing to concede he had a point.  But his eyes were cold, his expression flat, and he snapped, “Get the fuck out of the car, Buffy,” with such distaste, she hurried to oblige.  Anything to be away from him right now.

Angel sped away, not even waiting for her to shut the door properly.  Shoulders shaking, Buffy stumbled to her room, grateful she had no roommate to witness her deluge of tears.

She’d almost cried herself out when her phone rang, trilling the happy, cheerful song that signified Angel was calling.  She let it go to voicemail, but it rang again immediately.  And again.  Buffy answered, her voice thick and raw.

“Are you okay?”  Angel’s voice was just as hoarse.

The tears began to fall once more.  “Not really,” she hiccupped, pulling another tissue from the nearly empty box.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I don’t know what happened.”

Hearing the obvious pain in his voice, her own took a backseat.  “M-me either.”

“Can… can I come back?  I know I don’t deserve it, but please, can I come back?”

Buffy sniffled, crying harder.  “Of c-course.  Oh god, Angel.  I thought…”

“I know.  I know.  I’ve got a shitty temper, and I was an ass.  Something about this stupid holiday just brings out the worst in me.  I’m so sorry.”

“Where are you?”

He gave a strangled laugh.  “Halfway back to LA, I think.  I dunno, a few hours out.  But I’ll be there in the morning, okay?  Go to sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow.  I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

She crawled back into bed, heart still heavy, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

“A-are you sh-sure?  I thought you w-w-were having fun,” Tara said. 

Buffy bit the inside of her cheek, trying to fight back the tears.  She _was_ having fun, but… she’d come to realize that Angel was right, no matter how cruelly it had come out – show choir wasn’t where she needed to be focusing her efforts.  He’d already navigated the murky waters of college and moved on to graduate school; he was only looking out for her.  He’d come back the morning after Valentine’s Day as promised, full of tears and apologies, and they’d talked long into the next night about their future together.

“Buff, I’ll be honest,” he’d said.  “I don’t get the show choir thing.  But if it’s what makes you happy, then don’t let me being an insensitive jerk stop you from doing what you love.  I’ll come out in May, with bells on.  Hell, I’ll make the guys come too, give you your own cheering section.”  After a round of lovemaking, he’d added, “You do what you want, pick whatever major you want, don’t let me tell you otherwise.  I get so caught up in my vision of ‘us’, I forget sometimes that it’s _us_ who has to decide what that vision is, not _me_.”

By the time Angel had left the next morning, any lingering resentment had fled, leaving Buffy to decide just what it was she did want.  Without a doubt, Angel had been an asshole, but he’d had a point.  She wasn’t being very realistic about her future, choosing English as a major.  So what if she liked her classes?  That wouldn’t get her a job.  The stereotype of the unemployed English major existed for a reason.

Several long phone calls with Angel later, followed by Willow, her mom, and even Giles, Buffy had made up her mind.  She would take charge of her life, earn a degree and be somebody her future husband could be proud of.  When her mom had reminded Buffy of how she enjoyed helping out with art gallery events, and suggested a degree in public relations, the possibilities had immediately unfolded for her.  Public relations sounded right up her alley, and she already planned on talking Giles into letting her intern for him over the summer.

On the heels of that decision, she’d decided to cut out show choir.  It was _fun_ , but it wasn’t important.  While discussing majors and career paths, Angel had suggested she might want to take an entry-level job someplace, just a few hours a week, to get an idea of what she liked doing.

The idea had seemed reasonable to Buffy.  After all, the whole point of college was to prepare for a career, of which she most definitely wanted to have one.  No staying home and raising babies for her, no sir.  She was a modern girl.  Her mom had called in a favor to a friend, and found her a position at a gallery near the university. 

Only problem was, working girl Buffy didn’t have time to sing and dance anymore.

“I’m sure, Tara,” she said, looking into the blonde’s disappointed face.  “I love show choir, but… priorities, you know?”

Tara’s expression remained skeptical.  “But is th-this wh-what _you_ want?”

Buffy nodded briskly, to reassure herself just as much as the other woman.  “It’ll be worth it in the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a Jimmy Buffett fan, you might have recognized Spike's lyrics (Surrounded by stories...). That little snippet kept running through my head, so I finally let it out to play. Spike's not exactly a parrothead, though, so the better song might be 'At the Library' by Green Day. Or some mashup of the two. :)


	7. Enter Spike, Stage Right

 

“This,” Charlie said, clinking the neck of his beer bottle against Spike’s, “is golden.  Who knew a song about yer mum would be what got us back on top?”

“And looking at a tour across the pond.  Think you an’ me oughtta jet across, meet with this promoter, make sure they’re on the up and up.  Check on the venues and the like.  We can spend some time with the old todger too.”

“You mean the infamous Ripper?”  Charlie laughed.  “Only you would call him that, mate.  Me, I’d be honored.”

Spike grinned.  “And he’ll be thrilled to hear it.  Clem’ll have to go too, I wager.  Seeing as he’s officially our manager and all.”

Charlie nodded, fingers rasping against the reddish stubble of his jaw.  “The three of us, then.”  He pulled out his phone.  “The last date we have set to play is end of July.  So… mid-August sound good?”

“That gives us, what, a month to make all the arrangements?  Sounds all right.”

Charlie took a pull off his beer, and began to peel the label.  “Spike, mate… just the three of us are going, yeah?”

“What…?” 

With an apprehensive look, Charlie tipped his head towards the bedroom door.  The door behind which Drusilla was napping.  Spike’s countenance clouded, causing his friend to wince, and his indignation faded just as quickly.  Of course Dru couldn’t go.  She’d have one of her loony spells, tell the American promoter about the pixies who kept the guitars tuned or some such.  Bollix the whole thing up.

That was if she didn’t end up in the woman’s lap, trying to flirt with her.

Sweet bird, his Dru, real friendly-like, but others didn’t quite understand her daft flights of fancy, not usually.  His band mates were fond enough of his girlfriend, and treated her well, even if they did prefer to keep her behind closed doors.  Safer that way for the lot of them.

“Just the three of us,” he agreed.  “’Sides, other obligations and all.”  He added his own nod at the door. 

Drusilla was a children’s librarian, an occupation that suited her own childlike personality.  She had a tendency to choose some of the gorier stories for the morning storytime sessions held in the library, but the head librarian had learned long ago to always pre-approve her employee’s choices, and Dru’s dramatic readings were a favorite with parents and children alike.  She loved her job, hated to miss a day, although Spike figured she’d take a leave of absence to travel with him if they did manage to book this American tour. 

He smiled to himself, imagining her wide-eyed glee as they toured sunny California.  She’d like that, his princess would.  She’d thrill to the pulsing life of the big city just as much as she would enjoy leaving the lights behind and heading out to the nighttime desert to indulge her love of naming the stars.  Spike sipped at his beer, lost in a lurid fantasy involving a crisp, starry night, a pile of warm blankets, a bottle of good wine, and his very naked girlfriend.

Fingers snapped in his ear.  Startled, he dribbled his beer down the front of his shirt.  “Bloody hell!”

Charlie leaned back with a smirk.  “Lay off the visions of fame and fortune, Spike.  Just ‘cause the American chippie was impressed with us doesn’t mean we’ll hit it big over there.  Christ, we don’t even know for sure there’ll really be a tour yet.  She could’ve been blowing smoke up our arses.”

Spike sniffed.  “Oh, it’ll happen.  Got a good feeling ‘bout all this.”  He ran a hand through his bleached locks.  “California’s going to change everything for us.”

 

 

Stepping back inside his uncle’s apartment, Spike shrugged off his beloved coat and gave it a longing look.  The long, black leather duster was a critical part of ensemble.  It completed his persona.  It brought out his inner rock star.

The polished, worn leather also made him un-rock-star-ishly woozy, thanks to the sweltering California weather and his English blood.  He could pull it off back home, going out in summer with the duster on, but here, Spike was going to have to sacrifice his look for common sense.  He didn’t feel like being the best-dressed patron of the emergency room.

“Don’t worry, Spike, you still look hot,” Clem assured him from his spot on the sofa.  Spike raised an eyebrow at his friend’s unfortunate choice of adjective.  “Smashing, lad, simply smashing,” Clem sniggered, affecting an accent.  He dropped it for his normal voice.  “The ladies love you no matter what you wear, and you know it.  Quit worrying about how you look, or I’ll start worrying you’re playing for the other team.”

“You’re the poofter,” Spike muttered.  “Shut it, or I’ll send you off to market instead.  It’s your bloody country anyhow, don’t see why you’re making me be the one to fetch the… what did you want again?”

Clem grinned, pink jowls flopping, bald head covered with a thin sheen of sweat.  “Cheetos, man.  You’re going to love them.  And you lost the bet, fair and square.  Chop chop.”

Spike sent him a two-fingered salute, and stomped back outside in his heavy, black boots.  Which complemented his tight black jeans, and his even tighter black tee.  Yeah, he had a look.  It was simple, it was effective.  And it set off his bleached hair and blue eyes nicely.  The faint trace of black eyeliner (guyliner, _thankyouverymuch_ ) didn’t hurt either.  He wasn’t vain – well okay, maybe a touch, but after looking like the world’s biggest geek until the age of twenty-one, he felt he’d earned a little vanity.  Whatever the mirror told him, it was what he saw in other people’s eyes that made him walk a little taller, strut a little more confidently.

He’d been mighty unwilling when Dru had promised to make him a new man, but her vision had panned out, like it always seemed to.  _William_ was a pathetic fop of a man, but _Spike_ …  Clem was right.  Spike was fucking hot.

As he strode down the street with a smirk on his face, the way Drusilla had coached him years ago, Spike reflected that, loony as his girl could be, she understood how to create an image.  And in the music industry, image was as important as actual talent.  Spike rather thought his band had plenty of both, and Miss What’s-it, promoter-lady, seemed to think so too, promising them a solid three months’ worth of gigs at decent clubs if she could convince all the right people.  He and the boys had checked out some of the places she’d mentioned, and they’d been impressed.  Posh clubs, every one, guaranteed to have good turnout, and reap enough profits to cover all their expenses with spending money left on the side. 

Of course, he’d insisted they open and close their tour at the Bronze.  She’d only shrugged, glad to have two less bookings to deal with.

At the Kwik Stop, Spike eyed the rows of snack foods, looking for Cheetos per Clem’s request, when he heard a vaguely familiar voice.  Poking his head around the corner of the aisle, he spied a tall, broad man, with brown hair and a large brow.  Talking to a small blonde.  _Angel_ , he thought with a sneer _.  Out on another conquest.  Wonder if his bird’s wised up yet._

He went back to perusing the shelves, then froze when he heard the girl’s voice.  A voice he didn’t even realize had haunted his dreams until just now, when he heard it again for the first time in over a year.

“What do you think, Angel, cherry slushy or lime?”

With dawning horror, Spike turned back in slow motion, breath coming in short, painful gasps.  Her hair was shorter, only shoulder length, but the girl kissing that bastard was _her_.

Buffy.

 _His_ Buffy.

Was _Angel’s_ Buffy.

Spike fled the store, Cheetos forgotten.

 

 

He found himself in a park sometime later, hunched on the ground under a large, spreading tree, fingers itching for his guitar.  He always thought better with a guitar in hand, but he wasn’t ready to head back to his uncle’s flat yet.  His mates would have questions, questions he wasn’t keen on answering, not knowing the answers himself.

Bloody hell. 

Buffy.  Was dating that ass.  It couldn’t be true, could it?  Was _Angel_ the boyfriend she’d spoken so lovingly of?  The boyfriend she’d been so devoted to, a cup of coffee with another man had been out of the question?

Spike tried to recall that day, everything she’d said.  Tried to make it fit with what he’d heard Angel telling some other girl only a week later.  That he and Buffy had an arrangement when they were apart.

He snorted, realizing he’d spent more time around Angel than he’d spent with Buffy.  He didn’t really know the girl, no matter how she’d made his heart pitter-patter in his chest.  No girl could be so devoted, so naïve, that she didn’t know how her boyfriend spent his free time, even if she was a state over. 

Could she? 

He shook his head.  Nah.  More likely she knew, as Angel had said.  Maybe not the extent of his extra-curricular activities, but she had to know he wasn’t as keen on keeping some daft pact as she’d been.  Hell, there probably was no pact.  It was undoubtedly just a brush-off, a way to send the pathetic stranger she’d had no real interest in on his merry way, without breaking his pathetic heart.

It wasn’t as though a girl who could date _Angel_ would have any interest in nancy-boy, poofy-haired, poetry-reading, crying-over-his-mama William.  She had to be a right shallow bitch to date that git, Spike figured.

His heart screamed that he was wrong, that Buffy was everything he’d thought her to be.  He told it sod off.  Buggering thing didn’t know what it was talking about.

Spike heaved himself up and headed back to the store for the Cheetos he’d long forgotten, keeping a sharp lookout for the pair.  He didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to be confronted with the reality of who the girl he remembered so fondly really was. 

He made it back to the flat without once spying her blonde head.  Tossing the Cheetos in a curious Clem’s lap, he headed straight for the bedroom, where the feel of his guitar immediately soothed his confused head.  Without realizing it, Spike began to strum her song as he relived that day, trying to reconcile his memory of the sweet, feisty girl he’d met in the library with his notion of what somebody who would willingly date Angel must be like.

 

 

Hours later, Charlie poked his head in the door.  “That new?”

Spike frowned, then realized he was still playing Buffy’s song.  “Nah, some old thing I’d forgotten about.  Trying to remember how it went,” he lied.  Even though Drusilla had destroyed his notes for the song, he could recall it perfectly, every chord, every word. 

“It’s pretty,” the bass player said.  “Not our usual, but then neither was the one about your mum.  Want to work it up with the band?”

“Don’t think so.”  Spike set his guitar down and rolled his shoulders.  “S’nothing important.  Don’t really like how it’s turning out.  We ready to be off?”

Clem joined Charlie at the door.  “Been waiting all day to go check out your uncle’s club,” he said.  “I need to approve this place, since you’ve already booked us two shows there without even consulting me.”

Spike raised an eyebrow.

“All right, you’ve got me.  I want to try those onion blossom things you’ve been raving about,” the bald mad said with a grin.

“Now that sounds more like Clem,” Charlie laughed, heading for the front door.  Spike trailed behind, torn.  If Angel still worked at the Bronze… there was a good chance he might run into Buffy.  On the other hand, as one of the few hangouts for local people, there was a good chance he’d run into Buffy no matter what.  He’d just have to hope the chit wouldn’t recognize him.

No need to be reminded of how wrong he’d been.

 

 

Spike headed back to the Bronze late the next afternoon with his band mates.  Yesterday had been about fun, today was about business.  They threaded their way through the mostly empty club to the back offices.  There’d been no sign of Buffy yesterday evening, though Angel had been there, still working as a bouncer, and Spike had felt his heart harden further when the other man had left the club with a young woman at the end of the night.  A young, blonde woman, who was most definitely not Buffy.

If he was doing that right under his girlfriend’s nose…

Yeah, no question about it.  Buffy was either the world’s biggest sucker, or somebody he didn’t even want to contemplate.  Either way, she wasn’t the girl his foolish heart had imagined her to be.

He knocked on the office door.  “’Lo Rupes,” he said, swinging it open with a slight push.

“Ah, William, there you are.  Come on in, make yourselves comfortable.”

“ _Spike_ ,” Spike insisted, flopping down into a chair as Charlie and Clem settled themselves in.

Giles’ mouth twisted.  “Right, you little pillock.  Spike.”  He turned to the others.  “Sorry I missed you this morning, lads.  Did you enjoy the show last night?”

Charlie nodded enthusiastically.  “Sure did, Mr. Ripper, sir.  It was great.  Wish we could’ve gotten to hear the Dingoes play, the locals say they’re legend.  But Cry The Moon was fantastic.”

“Just Ripper, Charlie.  Or Giles, if you please.”  He shuffled some papers.  “The Dingoes were in Los Angeles last night, unfortunately.  Equally unfortunately, my P.R. girl went with them – she’s a friend of the band – so she’s unavailable for this meeting.  She’s just a summer intern, actually, headed back to university in a few days, so she won’t be handling anything to do with you lot.  But I would have liked her to meet you.”

He turned to look at Spike.  “Well, perhaps not _you_.  Lord knows why I’d want anybody to know you’re related to me.”

“Sod off, old man,” Spike sneered good-naturedly.

“Quite.”  Giles stared him down until Spike squirmed and dropped his gaze, then continued on.  “She’s part of that group of students I tutored a few years back, and I’m rather fond of Miss Summers.  Perhaps too much to inflict _you_ upon her,” he said with a chuckle, and Spike made a face.  “At any rate, she’s been brilliant, profits are up five percent this summer.  I’ve half a mind to ask her to come back and help with publicizing your shows, but I suspect she’ll be too busy with classes.”

“That’s a shame,” Clem said.  “We certainly want the best of the best working for us.”

Giles smiled.  “I don’t know that I’d call her the best of the best, seeing as she’s just starting out, although such a term will certainly be warranted in the future.  She’ll be back to work tomorrow if you’d like to pop in and meet her.”

Spike exchanged glances his friends.  “Doubt it, we’ve a lot to do tomorrow.  Packing up and such, purchasing trinkets for the ladies.  Since it’s not likely she’ll be assisting us anyhow…”

“Whichever you decide.  In the meantime, these are our contracts…”

An hour later, the three staggered out of the back office and into the main area, where the club was gearing up for the evening.  “I’ll say this about Ripper, he’s thorough,” Charlie groaned.  “Did you get all that?”

“I… I got some of it,” Clem said.  “And whatever I didn’t is sure to be in this… packet… of information.”  He held up a filled-to-bursting soft binder.  “Do you think all the bookings will be this much work?  Because I’m seriously rethinking the whole manager gig.  I’m not up for this kind of stress.”

“Get over it, you big pansy,” Spike said.  “I’ll buy you a pint and one of those onion things, you’ll feel better in no time.”

Several rounds into the evening, Charlie twisted in his seat, trying to catch the eye of the lone waitress.  “Service sure is shit tonight.”

“Looks like they’re short-staffed,” Spike agreed, ignoring the niggle of guilt in the pit of his stomach.  He was too many pints in to be of any use, he reasoned.  No way his uncle would want him dealing with the customers.

“Oh, here’s another,” Charlie said, nodding towards the back.  Spike peered through the murky interior to see a woman tying on an apron.  Her back was to him and he lost interest, the opening chords of a new song catching his attention.  Charlie nudged him.  “Here she comes, help me wave her over.”  Spike raised his hand.

And froze.

All breath gone.

She came closer, and he dropped his head, scrabbling to pick up the packet Clem had shoved to the middle of the table, hurrying to hide behind it.

“Aww, have you boys been waiting long?” Buffy laughed when Charlie began to rattle off his order.  “Give me a sec, this isn’t my regular job.  You’ll have to be patient with me.”

Spike wondered if she’d notice if he got up and left.  Or kept his face hidden all night.  Would she recognize him?  He’d known her instantly, but… well, he wasn’t William now.  If he played up Spike’s nastier side, no way would she recognize him.  Hell, she might even like his nastier side.  She liked _Angel_ , after all.

Either way, he didn’t want her recalling William.  Didn’t want to deal with that awkward conversation. 

_Know I wasn’t good enough for you, love, thanks for the gentle brush-off.  No need for us to reminisce over old times._

If she even remembered him at all.

“How about you, Mr. Incognito?  You need anything?”

He realized the pages he was pretending to peruse were upside down.  Spike lowered the binder, head tilting as he got a good look at her face.  She was so beautiful.  So very beautiful.  He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, heart pounding.  He couldn't make his vocal cords work to answer her.

Buffy’s cheerful smile faded, and her green eyes widened. 

“W- William?”

 


	8. The Masks We Wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; I have family visiting, and we've been busy roasting marshmallows over flowing, molten lava. No, really. 
> 
> I forgot to mention, way back in Chapter One, that the extremely talented Anaross helped me to choose which poet Buffy and William would meet over. If you haven't read Anaross's 'My Life Closed Twice', I highly recommend it - read it, and then go vote for her in this round of SunnyD Memorial Awards! Or just vote, period.

 

“W- William?”

The man in front of her blinked, a long, slow blink that shuttered his amazing blue eyes for far too long.  He sprawled backwards in his chair, as boneless as a jungle cat, thumbs coming to rest in his belt while silver-ringed fingers dangled suggestively, framing the front of his tight jeans.  His eyes travelled down her body, cataloguing her assets with lazy intent.

Buffy felt the blush rise in her cheeks, and her heart resumed beating, double-time.  With his bleached hair and brazen attitude, this man looked – and acted – nothing like William, but…  Those _eyes_.  Those _cheekbones_.  How many men in the world could lay claim to those features?

 It _had_ to be him.

His gaze rose to meet hers, tongue curling behind his teeth in a suggestive leer.  “Sure I’m William, kitten,” he said, in an accent completely unlike the one she remembered.  British, yes, but far rougher.  Far more sensual.  “If that’s who you want me to be.”  He cocked his head further, eying her like a hungry predator.  “Be anybody you want me to be, Goldilocks.”

Okay.  So not William.  Just some skeezy perv.  And wasn’t it her luck to have to deal with the skeezy perv.  Who had incredible eyes, and did _not_ make her want to find out what he could do with that tongue.  Because.  Skeezy.  Perv.

Giles so owed her for this.  It was the last time she _ever_ filled in, she didn’t care if he was down to zero employees on the busiest night of the year.

“My bad,” she trilled.  “Thought you were somebody worth my time.”  He reached for his glass, waggling it for a refill, and she plucked it from his hand.  “I’m so sorry, but drinking fun time is over for you tonight.  Feel free to order an appetizer.  And leave me a giant tip.  Or, you know.  Just leave.”

The red-haired man who’d been so anxious to order laughed.  “Ouch, mate.  Don’t much think she likes you, Spike.”

 “ _Spike_ , huh?” she said with an eye roll.  What kind of stupid name was that?  Obviously it was only a nickname, but it was one more strike against the man who couldn’t possibly be William.  “Well that explains a lot.  Do you want anything to eat, _Spike_ , or can I move on to more valuable customers?”

“Oh, I can think of all kinds of tasty treats to nibble on.”  His eyes dipped pointedly before locking with hers, and Buffy had to fight the urge to fan herself.  “Not sure what I want is on the menu, though.”  That pink tongue flexed once more; she stared at it, mesmerized by the sight, until her indignation kicked in, bringing her back to her senses.

Spike arched his eyebrows suggestively, but Buffy didn’t bother to reply.  How disgusting could this guy be?  She turned back to the others, who were watching their friend with amazement.  “I’ll be right back with your order, _gentlemen_.  If he’s gone when I get back,” she said, jerking her head in Spike’s direction, “I wouldn’t complain.”

Buffy hurried over to the next set of waving hands, trying to swallow back her disappointment that _Spike_ wasn’t the man she suddenly found herself missing with a fierce ache in her chest.

She passed his table off to Gina the first chance she got, not even waiting until after their order was up.  No way was she dealing with the bleached menace again.  The way he’d looked at her…  Buffy shuddered and headed for the front door.

“Hey,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, breathing in his familiar scent.  “Remind me to never wait tables again, no matter how prettily Giles asks.”

“No fun?” he asked, pulling her closer.

“So not fun.  The creep factor is out tonight.”

Angel frowned.  “Want me to…?”

“Nah, I took care of it.  Traded the table off to Gina.  I just needed a moment with you before I brave the breach.”  She bent down for a kiss.  “And any excuse to come grab a kiss is a good one, seeing as my chances are rapidly dwindling.  Five kissing days left.  It’s like counting down ‘til Christmas, only with loneliness to look forward to instead of prezzies.  Stupid new semester,” she said with a pout.

Pulling her onto his lap, Angel kissed her more thoroughly.  “Better not let any opportunities go to waste then.”

Buffy sighed and snuggled into his chest before standing once more.  “Okay, I’d better get back in there.  Poor Gina’s about to topple right over, she’s so frazzled.”

“You come get me if the creep gives you any more trouble.”

 “I can handle him.  But depending on how the rest of the night goes, maybe I’ll have you beat him up just for the fun of it.”  She paused.  “Unless I do it first.”

 

 

Spike wandered to the back offices to tell his uncle he was off.  The band was well into their second set, and he really did have a lot to accomplish tomorrow.  Foolish man that he was, he’d put off shopping for Dru until the last minute, and now he’d have to cram it all in on the last day.

He kept an eye open for Buffy as he went.  Much as he’d done his best to repulse her, he was still disappointed she’d never returned to his table, turning on her heel anytime he’d tried to catch her eye.  He’d panicked when she’d recognized him, instinctively acting as un-William-like as possible.  But then she had suggested that if he’d been the man she thought, he would have been worth her time, and he’d regretted his deception. 

Almost.

_See?_ his heart sing-songed.  _You weren’t wrong about her, she liked William_.  Spike wasn’t sure about that, but he wouldn’t have minded the opportunity to find out. 

He was about to knock on the office door when he heard voices within.  Recognizing one of them as Buffy’s, he hesitated.

“You don’t have to pay me extra,” she said.  “Come on Giles, I would have done it for free.  Well, maybe I deserve something for dealing with this one table… but I passed it off to Gina, so I’d give the bonus to her.  She deserves it for having to put up with that asshole.”

“There was trouble?”

“Just some creepy Billy Idol wannabe.  Complete with the whole ‘If I treat a girl like dirt she’ll fall all over me’ attitude.”  Spike winced.  It was a fair enough description, though it sounded especially ugly coming from her lips.  “Still, I’m glad I came in tonight.  That new band was something else.” 

Spike turned to leave, thinking he’d come back later.  

“I could totally see doing one of their songs for show choir – right down to the costumes and everything.  It would be amazing,” Buffy said, and he paused, surprised, his curiosity aroused.

“Are you planning on rejoining this year, then?” his uncle asked.

Even through the partially closed door, Spike could hear the longing in her voice.  “No-o-o.  I guess not.  Too busy.”  He was fascinated by the idea of her singing.  He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t imagine her singing anything the female lead had sung tonight.  Then again… his mind superimposed Buffy in front of the microphone, crooning something throaty and sensual, and… Yes, there it was.  Perfect fantasy material.  He edged closer to the door to hear what else she had to say.

“I guess I’m done with singing.  Except in the shower.  It’s… it’s just a waste of time, when I have more important things to do.” 

Spike disagreed, and so did his uncle.  “Nonsense, indulging a healthy passion is never a waste of time.  And I know I’m not the only one who was disappointed not to hear you sing this summer.”

“Yeah, Oz tried to talk me into singing with Devon again…”  She trailed off, wistful.  “But you know how well that went over last time.  I think it’s best if I put it all behind me.  I made the mistake of going to watch my choir’s May concert and it was really hard, especially when I had to listen to somebody else sing my solo.  Not that she was bad, but…”

Giles sighed, and Spike recognized it as his about-to-meddle sigh.  Buffy must have too.  “Don’t say anything.  It’s a choice I made.  _Me_.  For our future together.  When you’re planning a lifetime with somebody else, sometimes sacrifices have to be made.  He makes some, I make some, that’s how it works.”

_Angel.  Planning a lifetime with Angel.  What the hell is wrong with her?_

“And are you still switching your major this semester?  For Angel as well?”

“Put your glasses back on, they’re perfectly clean.  No, I’m not switching my major for Angel, I’m switching it for me.  Public Relations is a far more useful degree, and it’s not like I can’t minor in English.  I’m not giving it up, I’m just being practical.”

“I can’t deny that you have a natural aptitude for P.R.  It seems a wise choice.  I must admit I was pleased, however, when you chose English as your major.  It rather made me feel as if I’d accomplished something in all those hours of tutoring.”

Spike’s mind worked double-time, snapping pieces into place.  _Giles_ was the mentor who’d taught Buffy to love books and the written word.  _Buffy_ was the P.R. girl his uncle was so fond of.

Small bloody world, wasn’t it?

“Don’t worry, all the blood, sweat and tears were worth it.  And by tears, I mean yours,” Buffy said with a laugh.

There was shuffling from the other side of the door, and then Giles said, his voice choked with emotion, “I am so very proud of you, my dear.  Whatever choices you make, I know they’ll be the right ones.”  Spike couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous.  His uncle rarely said anything like that to him. ‘Course, that was likely ‘cause he laughed and shook it off when the old man did, but still.  With his mother gone, Uncle Rupert was the closest thing he had to a parent, and here he was being all fatherly with this slip of a girl instead of his own nephew. 

“Proud enough to walk me down the aisle, right?”

Rupert’s voice reflected the shock Spike felt.  “Buffy!  Have you… are you engaged, my dear?”

“Oh, not officially.  It’s all ‘someday in the future’ still… but Angel’s always said we’ll get married after I graduate.  Which is… I can’t wait.  It’s hard, doing this long-distance thing.  I miss him so much, you know?  So much I’m thinking about transferring to UC Sunnydale next semester.  I mean, is it wrong to want to be with him sooner rather than later?  When I know he’s The One?”

“You’re young yet.  Are you sure you want to tie yourself-”

She cut him off.  “I’ve already tied myself to Angel.  I haven’t even looked at another man since we started dating, and he’s just as committed, Giles.”  Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he stifled a snort.  She didn’t know who Angel really was, did she?  All of a sudden, he wanted to warn her somehow, clue her in before she did go and transfer schools.  Or worse, marry the berk.

 “I’m so lucky.  I’ve already met my soul mate, the man I know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

Spike shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from gagging.  Hearing all that love and devotion aimed at a man who didn’t deserve it made him want to burst in there and shake some sense into her.  Sodding hell, she really was that sweet and naïve after all.  It about killed him.  Angel was going to break her heart when she discovered the truth about him.

“Anything else you need for tonight, Giles?  ‘Cause if not, I need to get home.  Mom’s off on an overnight buying trip, and Dawn’s alone.  Who knows what she’ll get up to if I leave her by herself for too long.”

“No, go ahead.  You’ve done enough for tonight; I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.  Are you positive you still want to come in tomorrow?  I’m more than willing to…”

Spike hurried back down the hall, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.  He ducked into the men’s room to pace as he tried to work out everything he’d learned tonight.

Should he tell her about Angel?  No way would she believe him.  Maybe he could tell Giles, have him tell her…

Or why the bleeding hell should he get involved at all?  Wasn’t his business, was it?

Except Spike couldn’t bear the thought of her finding out when it was far too late.  When she’d already thrown her life away for the cheating bastard.  Buffy was too wonderful a girl to leave her to the wolves, and, yes, Spike was well aware of what a flip-flopper he’d turned into in the last two days.  He’d gone from thinking of Buffy as perfect to shallow bitch and back again, and he didn’t know how to process it all.  He splashed water on his face, then snapped his fingers.  Tomorrow – he could come back tomorrow, under the guise of talking to the P.R. girl.  It would give him time to think of how to handle the situation.

Decision made, Spike exited the restroom. 

And ran straight into Buffy. 

 


	9. Showdown

 

Buffy gasped and stepped backwards, then spun in the opposite direction.

“No, Bu- pet, wait,” he called after her.  “I wanted to apologize for earlier.”  Buffy pivoted to face him, fists on her hips.  He searched for a plausible excuse.  “I was drunk, all right?  ‘M much better now, since you cut me off.  All sobered up.”

“And what, now you want to be best buddies?  I don’t think so, pal.  Thanks for the apology.  Please go crawl back to whatever rock you were hiding under.”

“What?”  He frowned, surprised at her continued hostility.  He must have pissed her off more than he thought.  “No, come on, give me another chance, love.  ‘M not so bad once you get to know me.”

Buffy gave him a disparaging once over.  “You’re presuming I _want_ to get to know you.  Which is presuming an awful lot.  Look, I have things to do, so, can you get out of my way?”

He moved to allow her to pass, then dogged her footsteps into the club.  Spike could see Angel through the open front door on the opposite end of the club.  The other man saw him too.  Angel immediately stiffened and stood, eyes narrowing into a threatening glare.  Spike glared back before hurrying after Buffy once more. 

“You must have wanted to get to know me a little bit, pet.  Why else make up some excuse about recognizing me?”  Now that she was here in front of him, talking to him – or ignoring him as the case may be – Spike couldn’t let her go.  It would be so much easier to talk to her tomorrow if he could end the night on a good note.  Take back the bad first impression he’d left her with.

She whirled to face him.  “Listen, I don’t know where you get off on following me around, but get this through your thick skull.  I am not interested in you.  Yes, I thought for one millionth of a second that you were somebody I knew, but God knows how I was insane enough to make that mistake.  The guy I’m thinking of?  Was somebody I actually liked.  And you’re a just a jerk I don’t want to waste another second of my time on.  Are we clear?”

Angel came to stand beside Buffy.  “This the creep?”

“ _I’m_ not the creep,” Spike muttered, sending Angel a bitter look.

“Spike here was just leaving.”  Buffy turned to Angel, completely ignoring Spike.  He stood there, awkward, while she wrapped her arms around tall, dark and forehead.  “I gotta get home to Dawnie.  You going to stop by after work?”

She continued to murmur to Angel, and Spike walked away, helpless to do anything else.  He headed out to the back alley for a fag, dismayed by his failure.

He’d bollixed things up good and proper with Buffy.  Not that it should have mattered.  She was nothing to him, just some bint who was too stupid to realize her boyfriend was making her the biggest fool in all of Sunnydale.  Spike was leaving day after tomorrow, for his own life.  He wasn’t likely to see her again.

Fag finished, he lit another.  Tried to push away the memory of her green eyes flashing fire.  Tried to ignore how seeing her again had made his heart leap.  Tried to forget how comfortable, how _happy_ he’d felt with her, once upon a time.

The door to the alley creaked open, and Angel stepped through.  “Thought I might find you here.”

“You found me, good on you.  Be on your merry way now.”

Angel stepped closer.  “You need to leave Buffy alone.”

“Or what, you’ll glower at me?  Piss off, I don’t answer to you.”  He took a drag.  “Don’t see what concern it is of yours.”

“Did all that bleach damage your brain?  Buffy’s my girlfriend.  Of course it’s my concern.”

Spike rubbed his chin.  “See now, I find that hard to believe.  That Buffy’s your girl.  Seems to me you were with some other girl last night.”

The taller man frowned.  “You mean I was talking to another girl?  Probably.  Part of my job, you know.  Talk to the folks who come in.”

“Nope.  With, as in, watched you walk away together at the end of the day, all cozy-like.”

Angel laughed.  “Cozy-like?  You’re delusional.  Sure, I walked some girl out.  Talked to her even.  I’m not a monk, I can talk to girls.  Don’t really see what you’re implying there.”

Cocking his head, Spike took another long drag, then said, “Funny, I don’t think you’re as dense as all that.  Think you know exactly what I mean.  I’ve been watching you, see.  You walk an awful lot of girls out of this club.  Walk ‘em into your car even.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Angel repeated.  “You need serious help, buddy.  Do us all a favor and don’t come back until you’ve gotten it.  And stay the fuck away from Buffy.”

He turned away, and Spike called out, “How’s Darla?”

Angel froze, the lines of his body radiating tension.  He pivoted to face Spike once more, and looked him up and down.  Spike cocked his eyebrow questioningly.

“I remember you,” Angel said slowly.  “You’ve got a new look – which isn’t any better, by the way.  But I remember you.”

“Yeah?  You’ll know who I am, then.”

“Mr. Giles’ nephew.  Which means I know exactly who to ask to deal with your creepy punk ass.”  He took a step closer and drew himself upwards, using his extra three inches to loom menacingly over Spike.  “Buffy is not interested in a pathetic little twerp like you, so get over whatever freakaziod fantasies you have of her.  You have no chance with my girl.”

Spike sniffed, not intimidated in the least.  In taking on his punk look and brash attitude, he’d also had to learn how to take care of himself.  He knew how to deal with men like Angel.  “And again with the ‘my girl’ bit.  See, s’not so much that I want the girl.  More like I don’t see how _you_ deserve her.  She deserves better than a lying, cheating scumbag like you.”

“Whatever you think you know, you’re crazy.  I’m warning you, stay away from us.”

Tongue curling, Spike taunted, “Or what?  You throwing down your gauntlet?  Ready to duel over your honor?”  Angel let out a noise of disbelief and rolled his eyes.  “Coward,” Spike added.

Angel pinched the bridge of his nose.  Sighed.  “Usually I avoid hitting the mentally challenged, but in your case I think I’ll have to make an exception.  The only way you’re going to get the message is if I beat it into your head.” 

The larger man missed Spike’s feral smile, missed the way he bounced gleefully on the balls of his feet.  When Angel looked back up, Spike rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, then crooked his fingers.  “Come on then, show us what you’ve got.”  Angel lashed out, heavy fist catching him in the side of his mouth. 

Spike licked at the blood that welled up, then threw back his head and laughed.  “My turn.”

 

 

He hadn’t been asleep nearly long enough when he woke with a sudden start, falling off his uncle’s couch and landing on the hard floor with a startled thump.  Dazed, he opened his eyes, and was greeted with the vision of a livid blonde spitfire crouched over him, one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other drawn back, ready to clock him.

“Wh-what the hell?”

“Outside.  Now,” she hissed, and hauled him to his feet.  Even in his confusion, he couldn’t help but be impressed with how easily she’d done that.  Buffy shoved him in the back, towards the door, and he twisted to glare at her.

“Hold your horses, let a man gather his wits.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Shouldn’t take you long, seeing as you don’t have many.”  She grabbed his arm, and Spike let himself be dragged outside to stand in the pale, early morning light, the cobblestones of the courtyard cold beneath his bare feet.

Spike eyed her warily.  “What’re you doing here?”

“What the hell do you think?”

“No, I mean, how’d you get in?” he asked, and gave in to a jaw-cracking yawn.  He ran a hand through his well-tousled locks, avoiding the tender spot where Angel had knocked his head into the wall.  “Know Rupes locks his doors.”

Buffy looked at him like he was crazy.  “ _This_ is what concerns you?  You’re a raving psychopath, and you’re worried about _me_ breaking and entering?  I know where the spare key is kept, you moron.  And hey, by the way, what the hell is your issue?  Where do you get off on beating up my boyfriend?”

“He started it.”

“Well of course he did,” she shot back.  “It’s kinda his job and all, as bouncer.  To keep out the unsavory element.”

“Ah.  So I see he didn’t tell you why.  What it was that got his dander up.”  Spike hadn’t expected Angel to, but a bloke could hope.

Buffy poked him in the chest, and Spike had to resist the urge to rub at it.  _Bloody hell_ , but she was strong.  “No need for him to tell me anything.  You’re a jerk, what else do I need to know?”

Okay, he’d give her that, but surely he didn’t merit this much scorn.  “Why so harsh, love?”

Eyebrows shooting skyward in amazement, Buffy said, “You’re kidding, right?  Um, maybe because you treated me like a piece of meat?  Or maybe because you don’t know how to take no for answer.  Or, and here’s a thought, maybe it’s because you turned my boyfriend black and blue.”

“ _My boyfriend, my boyfriend_ ,” he mimicked.  “Don’t understand what you see in that pillock.”

“You don’t understand.  Nothing surprising there.”  Spike opened his mouth to protest, and Buffy cut him off.  “ _No_.  You don’t get to talk about Angel.  You’re nothing but a giant waste of space.  I can’t even _believe_ you’re related to Giles.”  He scowled, doing his best to keep the hurt he felt off his face.  Once you pissed this girl off, she didn’t let up.  Buffy poked him again, and if she wasn’t so damn beautiful, cheeks flushed, green eyes blazing, he might have hated her.  What would it be like to have this hellcat on his side?  “Nephew or not, don’t you dare come back to the club.  We’re pressing charges.  And maybe getting a restraining order.”

Spike waved his hand.  “Don’t bother.  I’m off tomorrow, back to greener pastures.”

“Tomorrow can’t come quick enough.”

Okay, there was only so much derision a bloke could take without lashing out.  He rolled his eyes and snorted.  “Not like I want to linger near your precious self.”

“Oh sure, I’m supposed to believe that after-”

He leaned in.  “You know, contrary to what you think, not everything is about you.  Don’t have _any_ interest in you, sweetheart.”  Buffy looked flustered for a moment, and he wondered what would happen if he made a liar of himself and kissed those pouty lips. 

“Well, thank goodness for small favors, because you?  Are so far beneath my notice, _Spike_ -”

He smiled, tongue curling, head tilting to one side.  “Yet, here you are noticing me-”

“And you’re just jealous of Angel because he’s a _real_ man.  Unlike you,” she spat.

Spike took a step backwards, blinking.  A small, half-laugh escaped him.  “That’s the kind of man you like, is it?”  He gave her an appraising look, mouth twisting in disgust.  “I’ll be sure and keep that in mind.”

Buffy stared at him.  “Oh no.  You don’t get to look at me like that.  Like _I’m_ the one lacking.”

Against his volition, his hand shot out, grasping her by the upper arm.  “No, love, you’re not lacking.  But do me a favor,” he said.  “Make sure you know Angel – _really_ know Angel – before you go and marry the berk.”

She gaped at him for a moment, then shook his hand off.  Before he could say another word, she slapped him hard across the face and hightailed it out of there, leaving him to stare after her in dismay.

Spike raised his fingertips to his stinging cheek, fingered the imprint of her hand.  "Well, that went well," he muttered to the empty courtyard.  If only he had the chance to start over, take the last twelve hours back... but it was too late now.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I didn't give this chapter a title... I don't know why I started naming them, when I agonize over naming anything. I can't do it 30-odd more times without suffering a nervous breakdown, I think. :)
> 
> Much thanks to Peaceheather, who helped me with Giles' confrontation of Angel.

 

When his uncle finally woke, Spike took him aside.  Not like the older man wouldn’t find out sooner or later; it was best to get it out of the way.  Spike was surprised he hadn’t said anything last night, actually, but Angel must have run off to lick his wounds without letting his boss know what had happened.  Too embarrassed to admit the Big Bad Bouncer had been taken out by the boss’s nephew.

“I beat the shit out of Angel,” he said without preamble.

Giles reached for his glasses, but finding only empty air, attempted to curb his bed hair instead.  “Dear lord.  I presume you have a reason for this?”

“’Course.  He’s a fucking bastard.”

“Ah.  That is generally considered insufficient grounds for using violence upon another’s person in this country.”

“He hit me first?”

With a sigh, Giles asked, “And did you, by any chance, provoke him into it?”  Spike sniffed.  “Right.  I suppose I’ll have to-”

“I want you to fire him.”

His uncle stared at him.  “You want me to fire my best bouncer because you beat him up?”

“No,” Spike enunciated slowly.  “I want you to fire him because he’s a cheating scumbag.  Who’s cheating on Buffy – you remember, the girl you were afraid to let _me_ near.  And in case I failed to mention it – cheating scumbag.”

Giles attempted to find his glasses again.  “This is a serious accusation, William.  And not one I am sure is a firing offence, even were it true.”

“Oh, ask around.  If I noticed in the one week I was here last year and the few days I’ve been around this year, I’m sure others can back me up.”

“Wait, do you mean to say this has been ongoing?”

“Ongoing, going on.  Your best bouncer has a nasty habit of taking home your female patrons at the end of the night, when the little missus isn’t around.”

His uncle straightened, and it wasn’t Rupert Giles who stood in front of Spike anymore.  It was the man they called Ripper.  “Yes.  Thank you for bringing this to my attention.  Although-”  Here his shoulders sagged for just a moment.  “I do wish you would have come directly to me, rather than resorting to an alleyway brawl.  If what you say is true, however…”  His blue eyes turned cold and hard.  “Angel shall be dealt with, have no fear.”

 

 

Willow sat cross-legged on the edge of Buffy’s bed, Xander at the foot of it, the pair of them watching as she finished packing.

“But this Spike guy was Giles’ nephew,” Xander repeated.  “The nephew of Giles.  Stuffy, tweedy Giles.”

“You’ve seen his Ripper pictures,” Willow said.  “I guess it runs in the family.  Delinquency.”

Buffy made a face.  “Spike is beyond delinquency and into delusional.  According to Angel, he was spouting off all kinds of crazy conspiracy theories before he felt the need to get physical.”

“And what does Giles say?” Willow said.

“He doesn’t say much.  But if I were him – the less said about my crazy nephew, the better.  At any rate, he’s gone back to the motherland or the mothership or wherever he came from.  Which is all this girl cares about.”  She held up a light blue sweater.  “What do you think – stay or go?”

Willow wrinkled her nose.  “Stay.”

“But on to more interesting things.  Xander?  You and Faith?  What’s this all about?” Buffy asked, kicking his foot.

Xander blushed.  “I’m getting the distinct feeling it’s about nothing at all.  Apparently Faith isn’t the commitment kind of gal.”

“And you’re what, surprised by this?” Willow said.

Buffy nodded.  “We knew she was bad news back in junior high, Xand, with the smoking and the framing me for it.”

“People can change,” he protested.  “We had a connection, I know we did.”

“That’s one topic I never want to hear about again.”

“Ew, seconded.  No connection details, please,” Willow added.

Xander spread his hands.  “Fine, ladies.  Mock me all you will.  I exist solely to be the butt of your jokes.”

The girls glanced at each other, and with a simultaneous, “Awwww,” they dropped to their knees and hugged their friend.  He wrapped his arms around them and sighed happily.  “And this makes all my pain worthwhile.”

Joyce poked her head in the door.  “Lunch is ready, guys.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Buffy replied, her voice muffled by Xander’s shoulder.

 

 

Later that day, she stood in the airport, refusing to join to queue for the security gate as she clung to Angel, mindful of his bruises.  “I don’t want to go,” she whispered.  “Saying goodbye gets harder and harder every time.”

He tipped her chin up.  “I love you, Buffy.  You know that, right?  Nothing will ever change how I feel about you.”  She ducked her head and nodded into his chest, doing her damndest not to cry.  “I’ll see you soon, baby.”

Buffy swallowed, and resolved to put more effort into finding out how to transfer to UC Sunnydale.  Sure, they had the rest of their lives together, but… she wanted the rest of her life to start _now_.

 

 

Spike had just opened the door to his flat when the phone began to ring.  “William?” his uncle’s voice echoed across the line.

“Yeah, Rupes?”

“Do you have a, ah, mute function on your phone?  Which will allow you to listen in without being heard?”

“Hang on, let me see.  Keep talking.” 

He pressed a button that promised ‘mute’ while his uncle discoursed on the weather, then said, “Hello?  Can you hear me, you daft prick?”  Rupert continued his prattle on the other end.  Spike pressed the mute button again.  “Seems so.  Why?”

“Stay on the line, lad, and stay muted until I give the all clear.  I promise it will be worth your time.”  Spike did, settling himself onto the sofa as the sound of a door creaking open made its way halfway around the world.

“Angel,” his uncle said.  “Please, do come in.  I trust you’re fully recovered?”  The other man grunted an affirmative, and Giles continued.  “No lingering concussion or such?”

“No, Mr. Giles, sir.”

“Very good.  Then there shall be no excuse for misunderstanding my words.  While I apologize for my nephew’s behavior, and assure you it shan’t happen again, he did bring to light some rather disturbing information regarding your conduct, Angel.”

“My conduct…?  Oh, no.  No, no, no – whatever the crazy asshole said, it isn’t true.  No disrespect intended sir, but I think your nephew needs help.  He admitted he’d been stalking me, and he made Buffy very uncomfortable-”

Giles cut him off, his voice like ice, and Spike shivered.  “No, you listen here, you pillock.  What I have found is that his claims were rather substantiated, and I have enough witness accounts to feel repulsed by the extent of your transgressions.  Buffy-”

“I love Buffy, sir, and wouldn’t do anything to hurt her,” Angel cut in, panicked.

“Buffy is a very trusting young woman,” Giles continued over him, his voice slightly louder, and infinitely colder.  “She is also the sweetest, kindest, most loving person I have ever met.  She has a bright future ahead of her, and I will not see it destroyed by a man as dishonorable as yourself.  Especially one who is, I have no doubt, well aware of her feelings on infidelity.  Am I correct?”

“Yeah,” Angel muttered sullenly.  “I know about Hank’s escapades and how they affected her.  But I haven’t-”

“Please do shut up.  In the last two weeks alone, since Buffy left for university, you have been involved with at least two women that I am aware of, one of whom was a visitor to Sunnydale and the Bronze – Nina – while the other, Darla, is a recurrent paramour of yours if I’m not mistaken.”

Spike rubbed his hands together with an evil chuckle, delighting in the damning silence on the other end.

His uncle continued.  “Legally, I cannot fire you, as you’ve done nothing to violate this club’s policies.  As your employer, there is nothing I can do to you, regardless of your reprehensible behavior.  However, I am not merely your employer.  I am also Buffy’s mentor.  She is the daughter I never had, as I am sure you know.  You may wish to keep that in mind while I contemplate all that I have seen and heard regarding your treatment of her.

“You may also wish to keep in mind the reputation I earned in my youth.  A reputation that was not entirely undeserved, I assure you.”

Imagining both the menace on Ripper’s face and the terror on Angel’s, Spike burst out laughing, hoping the mute function did indeed work.  He wasn’t the one in the hot seat, and still he was practically shitting his pants at the threat in his uncle’s voice.  The only thing that could have made this moment better was if he had been there to witness it himself.

“Jesus Christ, you’re as crazy as your nephew.  You know what?  I don’t need this hassle.  I quit.”

“An excellent choice, I assure you.  Do you prefer to terminate your employment effective immediately, or do you wish to give two week’s notice?”

Angel laughed.  “You think I’d come back here?  No way.  Tell you what, you _and_ your crazy lunatic of a nephew need to stay away from me and Buffy.”  Spike heard the sound of a chair toppling.

“Oh dear.  Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear about one other small matter.  The next time I speak with Buffy?  I expect to hear all the sad details of how you have – kindly and gently – ended your relationship with her.”

“Screw you, old man.  Buffy loves me, and I love her.  No way she’s going to believe your lies.  We’re going to have a long, happy life together, no matter what you do to try to break us apart.”

Ripper’s voice dropped so low, Spike had to strain to hear it.  “I suggest your rethink your position, Angel.  Such an attitude won’t end well for you.”

The door on the other end slammed with such force, Spike winced.  A moment later, his uncle said, “William?  Are you still there?”

He pressed the mute button.  “That was bloody brilliant, Ripper.  Well played.”

Giles sighed.  “Yes, well.  Let’s hope Angel chooses to do the right thing.  As he said, I doubt Buffy will easily accept the truth about his infidelity, preferring to cling to a lie rather than acknowledge he could treat her so.  She is fiercely loyal, to a fault in this case.”

“Yeah, what was that bit about Hank?”

“Her father,” Giles answered shortly.  “He was quite the womanizer.  Abandoned his family and left them on the brink of poverty while he emptied their bank accounts and ran off to Spain with one of his several mistresses.”

“Bastard.”

“Indeed.”

 

 

Buffy opened her dorm door at the insistent knock.  Then slammed it with as much force as she could muster, making the entire room reverberate.  “Go away,” she shouted, furious he’d dared to show his face.

“Honey, open the door,” her mom said.  Wait – her mom?

She cracked it, peering out.  Yep, there was her mom, elbowing Giles to the side so she could stand in front.  “We need to talk to you.”

“You, I’ll talk to,” she said, opening the door just enough for her mother to enter.  “Not _him_.”  Giles’ mouth tightened, hurt, but she didn’t care.  He’d fired her boyfriend.  _Fired_ him.  All because of the crazy accusations that creep of a nephew of his had made.  Buffy didn’t know what Spike’s problem was, but he’d better hope to God she never saw him again.

She thought she’d made it clear she never wanted to talk to Giles again either when she’d screamed at him over the phone and then hung up on him.  Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the message.

“Why are you here?  And with that traitor?”

Joyce sat on her bed, hands folded in her lap.  “You haven’t been answering your phone.  Mr. Giles came to me, concerned… and after hearing what he has to say-”

“Oh, don’t tell me _you_ believe the pack of lies too!”

“Do you know what these lies are?”

“Sure.”  Buffy waved her hand.  “Angel told me all about Spike’s delusional fantasies.  The creep is out for our blood, for some reason, and now he’s got you all mixed up in it…”

Joyce shook her head.  “I thought Mr. Giles was misinformed, at first.  I didn’t want to believe what he had to say.  I know how much you love Angel, and he’s never been anything but charming and polite…  So I did my own investigating.  The man barely even bothered to cover his tracks, honey.  This has nothing to do with Mr. Giles’ nephew.  The truth of it is, Angel has been far from faithful.”

She stared at her mother, in shock, then sank slowly to the floor, hand coming up to cover her mouth.  “No…”

“I’m sorry.  But…”  Joyce trailed off, at a loss.  “Mr. Giles said you were thinking about transferring, to be closer to Angel.  And… after I found out the truth for myself…”  Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper.  “I know you probably hate me right now…  But I couldn’t let you go on believing…”

Buffy shook her head, denying it.  Denying everything.  No way.  There was a mistake.  Angel… Angel wouldn’t do this to her.  He wouldn’t!  It was all some elaborate plot.  A sick, twisted plot Spike had cooked up for whatever reason… from halfway around the world.  Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to admit how unreasonable the idea was.  It was still more reasonable than _Angel_ cheating on her.  There was The Pact.  And a future marriage, and life together, and…  He loved her.  She knew he did.

“I don’t believe you.”  Her voice came out as a croak.  “I don’t believe you,” she repeated, stronger this time.  “I don’t know why you’re all so determined to break us up, but this stops now!”  Buffy climbed to her feet and wrenched open the door.  Giles was still waiting on the other side, his visage a mask of sympathy, and she had to repress the urge to claw the tender compassion right off his face.  “Sorry you guys wasted your time by driving all the way out here.  Get the hell out and have a nice trip home.”

Giles and her mother shared a look, a look that said, ‘Give her space and she’ll come to her senses’.  Buffy narrowed her eyes.  Joyce hesitated, then reached into her purse, pulled out a folder, and laid it on the bed.  “I don’t know if the details will make it better or worse.  But they’re in here.  If you want to see them.”  She tried to wrap her daughter in a hug, but Buffy stiffened, turning to stone in her arms.  “I love you, sweetie.  We just want… what’s best for you.”

Joyce walked through the door and added, “We’re spending the night at the Best Western.  If you want to talk.” 

Buffy’s eyes burned and her throat convulsed.  She didn’t say a word; only shut the door in their worried faces.

 

 

She waited until their next weekend together to confront him.  She wanted to see his face.  See his eyes.  It was the hardest two weeks of Buffy’s life, leading Angel on, letting him think nothing was wrong.  She’d finally given in and looked through the folder she’d thrown into the trash, her palms sweaty and her stomach heaving as she read about her boyfriend’s infidelities.  The one thing she feared most – the _only_ thing Buffy felt she couldn’t forgive Angel for – and here she was, face-to-face with the sickening reality of her worst nightmare. 

_Guess what they say about falling for a guy just like Daddy is true after all._

As she waited for Angel to show, she read through the details her mother had put together one more time, remembering the mornings when Angel hadn’t been home, his glib excuses.  She felt like vomiting.  Bad enough he wasn’t faithful when she was out of state – it wasn’t forgivable, but at least it was sort of, if she squinted just right, maybe-kind-of-almost understandable.  But to think he might have been screwing some other girl only hours after her…  She felt dirtier than words could express.

She wanted to take yet another shower, but a knock sounded at her door.  Buffy set the folder to the side and smoothed her hair, face set in grim lines of determination, heart breaking as she prepared to lay to rest a dream she’d cherished all her adult life.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photographic inspiration for Spike the Rock Star: http://spuffy-luvr.livejournal.com/15127.html

<http://spuffy-luvr.livejournal.com/15127.html>

 

“I have to take my pleasure where I find it.  You taste like ashes, my Spike.”

His face was impassive, but behind the mask of calm, Spike was a roiling, choking mess.  Since he’d returned from California, today was the third time he’d found Drusilla in their bed with another man – clothed this time at least.

“The sunshine’s taken you, and I won’t get you back.”

“Not this again.”  His voice broke.  “I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Dru.  For chrissakes, I love you, and only you.  I’ve never strayed.  Why do you insist on punishing me for something I haven’t done?”

She touched a finger to his temple.  “Not here.”  Her other hand cupped his groin.  “Nor here.”  The hand at his temple slid to cover his heart.  “But here.”  Drusilla stepped backwards, her face sad and resigned.  “Tell me you do not write of her.  Of your golden goddess.  Song after song after song, every one about the sunshine that has claimed you.”

Spike swallowed, his pat denial falling dead on his lips.  He’d been writing like a madman since he’d returned.  Song after song after poetic bloody song.  And all of them about Buffy.  But Buffy was – not here.  Not the one he wanted to be with.  It was a temporary obsession, nothing more.  One he’d tried to hide from his true love, and obviously failed.

“Drusilla.  I _love_ you.  With all that I am.  You’re all that I know, pet.”

“Yes.  But not all that you love.  And so long as I share your heart, I share my bed.  You can’t have us both, Spike.”  Pirouetting, she added, “I know what your choice shall be.  Do not fret.  I shan’t cry for you.”

Wait – _what?_   Did she… was she… 

“Are you…?”  He couldn’t say it.

“Our time is past.  Your star dances with mine no longer.”

“Oh, bloody hell, _no!_ ”  He grabbed her arm to stop her mad spinning.  “Look, I don’t care who all you’ve slept with.  I don’t care, all right?  I forgive you.  Just…Please, don’t do this.  You can’t – I’m nothing without you.”

She cupped his cheek.  “You are _Spike_.  You have the stars inside you.”

“I’m _Spike_ because _you_ made me Spike.  I became this for you!  Because of you!  And now-”  He wanted to ask how she couldn’t want him now, wanted to scream and rail at her for changing his life and then abandoning him to it, unworthy of her love and attention.  “I need you,” he said instead.

“Silly boy.”  Drusilla walked to the door, then paused, her hand upon the handle.  She wasn’t really going to leave, just up and walk away, was she?  A seraphic smile graced her face as she looked over her shoulder, raven hair cascading down her back.  “One last lesson, my Spike.  Use the pain to make the words bleed.”

And with that, she walked out of his life.

 

 

“I should have known.”  Xander wrapped his arms more tightly around Buffy, holding her close while she cried.  “I should have known,” he repeated.  “Should have seen it.”

“H-how?” Buffy managed between sobs.  “Angel was sm-smart enough not to do it in front of you guys.  Even Giles never noticed, and he was actually _at_ the club with Angel.”

“I just – I should have – I feel responsible.  I was there too.  In Sunnydale.  At the Bronze.  I should have noticed _something_.  That Spike guy did; why didn’t I?  Or Willow, or Oz?  Or, yeah, Giles?”

Buffy took an unsteady breath, and shook her head against his chest.  “It’s Angel’s fault, not anybody else’s.  He knew better than to pick up girls in front of my friends.  He’s not dumb, just a cheating bastard of an asshole…”  She shuddered again. “I guess he figured Spike was some stranger who wouldn’t know he was screwing around.  Or care if he did.”

Xander smoothed her damp hair away from her cheeks.  “It’s a good thing Spike turned out to be some creepy stalker, huh?  Sure wish I could have helped him with the Angel beat down.”

Maybe it was a case of shoot the messenger, but Buffy wasn’t ready to thank Spike for his part in exposing Angel’s infidelities.  It didn’t matter if he’d been right, she still didn’t like the guy.  She changed the subject instead.  “You said you brought cookies?”

“Yup.  Willow baked enough cookies to last you until next spring.  You know how she gets when she feels helpless…  Add in that she had too many tests to skip class and drive out with me, and Willow was in a guilty baking frenzy all weekend long.” 

She gave him a grateful hug.  At least he had made it.  Nobody here understood what Angel had meant to her, and though she’d called Joyce several times since, Buffy wasn’t yet ready to see her mother face to face.  Not after the way she’d behaved when her mom and Giles had driven out to warn her about her boyfriend.  “I’m glad you came.  It really means a lot to me.”

“How could I not?” Xander asked.  “And this is the added bonus of being ex-pizza guy right now.  Mr. Sanders did me a favor by firing me.  Gave me more time for best friend duties.”  With one last squeeze, he stood and moved to her desk, where he’d set a large box earlier.  He opened it with a flourish, and began to toss gallon freezer bag after gallon freezer bag onto her bed, each of them filled with cookies.  “I managed to fit a few hundred dozen of these heartache banishing babies into my car.”

A weepy laugh escaped her.  “I am going to get so fat if I eat all this.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to eat them for you,” he mock-sighed.  “I took care of a couple dozen on the drive out; I suppose I could probably force myself to eat the rest on the way home.”  Xander reached for a bag, and Buffy snatched it back. 

“Nuh-uh.  Mine.”  She opened it and gave an appreciative sniff.  “Mmm.  Chocolate chip.  You know what this calls for?  Milk.”  She resealed the bag and grabbed his hand, determined to put Angel out of her mind.  “Come on, let’s go get some, and then we can have a proper pig-out.”

 

 

Somehow, Spike got through the first week.  And the next.  And the next.  There were gigs to play and arrangements for America to make.  He did it all from the bottom of a bottle.  Four years he’d been with Drusilla.  Four years she’d been his guiding light.  And then one day – gone.  As if none of it had ever mattered.

Spike stayed at the bottom of the bottle, fulfilling his obligations mechanically.  Except the singing.  Once his mates got him up on stage, he was all right, for a little while.  He understood now about making the words bleed.  And bleed they did, all the anguish he felt pouring from his curled lips, eyes like daggers, hands like claws around the microphone.

The fans loved it.  Spike sneered and screamed, his entire demeanor letting the world know that he didn’t give a single damn, and of course they only wanted him more.  He didn’t care.  The moment he stepped off the stage, another bottle was in his hand, all else forgotten.  Once or twice, he let a woman follow him back into the dressing room, or maybe to the flat, but it did little to soothe his soul.  Until one day, heart numb and mind mostly blank, he realized it was Cecily standing before him in his living room.

“Cecily?” he asked, voice hoarse from the show.  He tried to focus his burning eyes focus on the curvaceous brunette in front of him.  “That really you, pet?”

“So you do remember me, William.”  She smiled coyly.  “A girl doesn’t like to think she can be forgotten so easily.  Not with all the pretty words you used to write for me.”

“Spike,” he told her.  “It’s Spike now.  No more William.  William was beneath you, yeah?”

She trailed a perfectly manicured fingertip up his bare arm.  “Oh, I don’t know about that.  Perhaps I was… a tad harsh.  After all, I never truly took the time to know you.  Seems I made a mistake.”

“Too bloody right, you did.”  He sniffed and took a swig from the bottle in his hand.

She uncurled his fingers one by one, removed the whiskey, and set it on the table.  “Well, then.  Why don’t you show me what I’ve been missing.”

He must have done something right, because she was still there in the morning.  And the morning after that, and the one after that – until Spike began to wonder if they might be a thing.  Had he somehow, in the midst of his drunken, self-loathing stupor, managed to win the heart of the first girl he’d ever imagined himself in love with?

Two weeks later, Cecily was _still_ coming by, and Spike thought perhaps he had.  When she showed at his place that night, he decided he’d try having a conversation with her rather than the usual shagging they went straight to.  She was back the next day, and the frozen numbness of his heart thawed a little.  Maybe the girl liked William after all.  Bit by bit, he let William out a little more, showed Cecily what was really in his heart.

The day after he unburdened himself to her, crying over Drusilla with his head in her lap, he found her in the backstage dressing room with his drummer.

“Spike – he’s not so bad.”  Cecily appraised him with a disdainful sniff, and buttoned her shirt back up.  “But he’s just a mask.  Underneath, you’re still you, William – a sad, pathetic little man.  Having gotten to know you?  I was right.  You’re not worth my time.”

William died that day.  Spike buried him so far away, he would never see the light of day again.

 

 

Buffy gripped Tara’s hand, her breathing erratic.  “I can’t believe how nervous I am.  I am _so_ nervous.  You wouldn’t think I’d still be so nervous, would you?”

Tara loosened Buffy’s fingers with an apologetic smile.  “ _Ow_.  And j-just breathe.  You’ll be fine.”

“I know, but they’re all out there.  My family and friends.  I can’t believe they came.  Just to hear _me_.  None of them has ever really heard me sing before.”

“Well th-then, they’re in for a treat, aren’t they?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.  Aren’t you even a little bit nervous?”

Tara smiled.  “O-of course.  But there’s n-nobody in the audience for me.  Oh, don’t!” she said when Buffy made to apologize.  “I-it’s better this way.  That my family isn’t here.  I have the people I really love up onstage with me already.”  She squeezed Buffy’s hand.  “And I l-love singing.  It’s hard to be n-nervous when I’m doing something that’s a million times easier for me than t-t-talking, you know?”

Buffy smiled at her, the other girl’s serenity calming her as well.  “Yeah.  It’s nice to be doing something I love,” she agreed.  If there had been one good thing about breaking up with Angel…

She peered around the curtain from the wings, and spied Giles holding her mom’s hand out in the second row.  Okay, _two_ good things.  She’d been totally wigged at first, thinking of her mom and her surrogate father together, especially after years of doing her best to keep them apart – no need to have _both_ parental figures ganging up on her.  But… Giles seemed to make her mom happy, and vice versa.  Buffy sighed when he leaned over to whisper in Joyce’s ear and the whisper turned into a kiss, much to Dawn’s disgust from the next seat over.

“Places,” the director said, and Buffy didn’t have time to think about anything else, good or bad, until the show was over.

Afterwards, surrounded by those she loved, everybody chattering excitedly as they headed to dinner, Buffy couldn’t help but notice just how different she felt compared to the time Angel had attended a performance.  Her friends, her family, they sustained her post-performance high rather than deflating it.  For the first time since she’d broken up with Angel, Buffy felt… free.  Not only free, but _happy_.  She realized something important as she walked down the street, surrounded by those she loved.  Breaking up with Angel hadn’t been the end of her dreams, but the beginning of something better.

“So,” Oz said blandly.  “You going to sing with the Dingoes this summer?”

“What about Devon?  He’s not going to like sharing the spotlight.”

“I’ll handle him.”

Buffy gave the guitar player a brilliant smile as she floated along beside him.  “All right,” she said.  “Sure.”

 

 

“You need to get your shit together, man.”  The skinny, tattooed bloke handed him an envelope, and shook his head.  “Whatever the hell happened, get over it.  Maybe we’ll have a job for you then.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Spike countered sullenly, tamping down the urge to punch the man’s face in.  He’d beat the piss out of some sorry sod the other night for nothing more than a single mouthy comment, and his actions hadn’t gone over well with the bosses.  Go figure.

_And another job bites the big one.  Get over it.  Wanker_.

Spike held his head high, no tears in sight, and strode out of the seedy club like he didn’t give a single damn.  He’d cried himself out months ago.  Even the rage was gone, leaving him a mostly empty shell of a man. 

Head pounding in time to the rhythm of his feet, Spike headed for the nearest liquor store with the intention of purchasing the cheapest rotgut they had available.  He had to make the little bit of money there was in the envelope last until he could find someone else to hire him.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.  Fired.  From his job as bouncer.  Bit of karmic retribution or some such.  Less than a year ago, he’d been on top of the world – lead singer of a band profitable enough none of them needed day jobs, an upcoming three month tour in America, and the love of a beautiful, if slightly dotty woman.

Now look at him.  An unemployed, soon to be homeless tosser who was steadily drinking himself into an early grave.  No woman – he was done with relationships forever, thank you very much.  Love ‘em and leave ‘em was his new mantra.  More precisely, fuck ‘em and fuck off. 

And as for the band and the tour?  After the third time he’d lost control and started beating the living hell out of his drummer during the middle of a show, the band had ceased to exist.  Or rather, they existed without him.  Somebody else had stepped in to take his place, and while Edge of Insanity wasn’t the hottest act in town anymore, it also wasn’t a band where the fans were guaranteed to see the lead singer erupt into either a bout of violence or tears mid-song.

Needless to say, the tour in America had gone tits up, along with everything else.  Spike had a vague recollection of ringing up Promoter Lady after emptying yet another bottle to tell her there was no way in hell he would ever step foot in California again.  His alcohol-addled mind had come to the conclusion that California was Buffy’s home, and as little Miss You’re-Beneath-Me Prim-and-Proper Buffy Fucking Summers was somehow, he was sure, to blame for all that was wrong in his life ( _her fault Drusilla left me_ ), this had seemed perfectly logical at the time.

Home once more, Spike set to work on the liquor with a vengeance, ignoring the shrill beep that signified someone had left a message on his cell.  Odds were it was a creditor, or possibly one of Charlie’s fewer and fewer tentative attempts to help him snap out of his downward spiral.  When the phone continued to beep at him, strident tone accusing and relentless, he rose to his feet and stomped towards it, stumbling over the scattered garbage on the floor.  Aiming an unsteady finger at the buttons, Spike closed one eye and stabbed until he heard a male voice speaking.

The words came out garbled, making little sense to his fuzzy brain, so he shook his head to clear it, then stabbed again.  “William,” his uncle said.  “Your friend Charlie contacted me recently, and I am quite concerned by what he had to say.  I didn’t realize you were having such a hard time of it…”

He snorted.  Hard time of it, now there was an understatement.  Rupert’s next words caught his attention.  “…consider coming to stay with me for awhile…”

_Not bloody likely.  California.  Bitch from hell that ruined my life.  Ta, Ripper, but I think not._

Days later, when the money in the envelope had dwindled down to nothing without a single prospect for earning more in sight, his uncle’s invitation began to look mighty tempting.  Without the haze of alcohol clouding his mind, Spike realized that seeing Buffy sounded a whole lot more alluring than he’d wanted to admit.  After all, he was single, she was… well, he didn’t know if she was with anyone.  But she wasn’t seeing Angel anymore.  Even if she wasn’t single, Spike still had the idea that maybe he could get a leg up over Buffy Summers.  She’d liked William, hadn’t she?  Surely he could get her to like him again, at least enough for a quick tumble.

Perhaps then he’d be able to get her out of his head and move on with his own worthless life. 

_It can’t be any worse than this,_ he thought, picking up the phone.  His mother’s voice echoed in his head, harsh and accusing.  _That woman, William.  This lifestyle.  It will leave you bitter and used up, burnt out by twenty-five_.

_Guess you were right after all, Mum_.

“Happy twenty-fifth fucking birthday to me,” he muttered, and rang his uncle’s number.

 

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

“Xander?” Willow said.  “You going to be okay there?”

“I… I don’t know.”  He swallowed.  “Did she just?”

“Ask you out?  I believe so.”

“And did I?”

“Agree?  I think you did.”

Buffy smirked at her friend’s flabbergasted face.  Not that she wasn’t feeling a little flabbergasted herself, but seeing as she hadn’t been the object of Anya’s attentions…

Conversing with Anya was a unique experience, one that tended to leave her conversational partners shell shocked.  The young woman had moved to Sunnydale over the winter, following her then-boyfriend to Sunnydale when he’d replaced the Dingoes’ drummer.  After only a month in town, she’d broken up with Olaf “The Troll” Jorgensen, but had remained part of the Dingoes’ entourage, and by extension, part of Buffy’s group of friends.  Anya was the most tactless, forthright person Buffy had ever met, discomforting to be around, and yet oddly refreshing at the same time.  She’d only known Anya a month now, but seeing as Xander and Willow had known her for closer to half a year and _still_ didn’t know how to react to the blunt young woman, she didn’t think she would become accustomed to Anya’s strange ways any time soon.

“Well, look at it this way.  At least you’ll always know exactly where you stand with her,” Buffy said.

“But… but…”

His frightened wide brown eyes remained fixated on Anya’s back, on the far side of the Bronze.  Buffy patted his shoulder and left him to his babbling, though she kept a comforting hand on his arm.  “I still say it’s weird to promote myself,” she said to Willow.  “Makes me feel like a shameless hussy.”

Willow shrugged.  “That’s your job, to promote the bands who play here.  And if a regular band does something new, it’s your job to promote that too.  In this case, you just happen to be the new thing…”  She took a sip of her drink.  “You nervous?”

“Not yet.  We’ve still got a week of practice before my big debut.  Plus, it’s only the one song.  Not like I’m doing an entire gig with them.”  She scrunched up her hair in one hand.  “You’re going to help me fix my hair, right?  That’s the part I’m most worried about right now.  It’s not quite the same as singing with show choir.”

The redhead drummed her fingers on the table.  “I have a crazy idea you’re probably going to shoot me for, but… you know who you should ask to do your hair and makeup?  Faith.”  She indicated the brunette server who was leaning seductively over a nearby table, taking the orders of four very appreciative men.  “I don’t think I’m the best person to help you lose the pert and perky and wholesome look, because frankly, it’s the only one I know.  If you want to get sexed up-”

“You mean if I want to look like a skanky whore…”

Willow shook her head.  “Dangerous.  Sexy.  She’s got it down.  And this song?  Demands dangerous and sexy.”

Buffy contemplated Faith, doing her best to remain objective despite the automatic feeling of resentment that rose up at the thought of the woman she’d considered her arch-nemesis for seven years now.  Faith looked like sex on legs, no question about it, and Buffy licked her lips, wondering if she could pull it off.  If only she had a Danny Zuko to inspire her Sandra Dee. 

Her eyes skipped over to Riley, a tall, sandy-haired man with a wide open smile and arms to die for, and she wondered what he would think if she got her dangerous on.  He’d asked her out earlier in the week, and Buffy had declined, telling him to try again in a week or two when she wasn’t so busy.  Watching him as he leaned on the bar, chatting with his friend, she thought the sparks could be there.  It wasn’t a love-at-first-sight deal, but after Angel, Buffy was done with the whole notion of soul mates and destiny.

Xander suddenly zoned back in.  “Wait – were you two talking about Faith?”

“Will thinks I should let Faith give me a makeover.  Teach me how to be a bad girl.”  Her friend’s eyes went unfocused, and a bubble of spit formed in the corner of his mouth.  Buffy quirked an eyebrow.  “Hello, Earth to Xander?  Something interesting going on it there?” 

A shudder traveled up his spine.  “Not that that didn’t inspire all kinds of pleasant images, but huh now?”

“For my grand debut with the Dingoes.”

“I thought Faith might be able to give her the right look,” Willow added.

Xander’s eyes darted between Buffy and Faith, whose leather-clad booty waved in the air as she bent over yet another table, wiping it down with a rag.

“Think we lost him again,” Willow whispered.

“Let’s hope he and Anya hit it off,” Buffy whispered back.  “Poor Xander’s going to become a drooling mess if he doesn’t find an orgasm partner soon.”  She snickered as she repeated the frank phrasing Anya had invoked earlier.

“Since you’re not killing me, I take it the Faith idea has merit?”

Buffy shrugged.  “I’ll think about it.  It _is_ a bit of a naughty song… and let me tell you, I’m still trying to get over the idea of _Oz_ writing such a naughty song.  Who knew his mind worked that way?”  Willow turned an interesting shade of red.  “Why, you dirty girl, you!  It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.  Tell me more about this kinky side of your boyfriend.”

Xander chose that moment to refocus on the conversation.  “Who’s kinky now?”

 

 

Spike set foot on American soil with the best of intentions.  He was getting a fresh start, away from his problems, away from those who knew him.  He’d had a run of bad luck, most of it his own fault if he was being honest, but wasn’t California the land of golden opportunities? 

Giles met him at the luggage carrousel, and favored him with a brief hug before Spike bent to retrieve his baggage – one large suitcase and his acoustic guitar in a hard case.  All the rest had been sold or packed into storage indefinitely.  No need to bring his past life with him.

At the flat, he refused the drink his uncle unthinkingly offered him – fresh start and all that.  Giles said something about him taking some time to think things over, decide what he wanted, and Spike replied he intended to earn his keep.  Help around the club as needed, and maybe find a band to sing with in his spare time.  Get back on track, see?

His uncle nodded in approval.  “Take your time, son, there’s no rush.  I do understand the place you’re in.  Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is ask for help.” 

For a brief moment, tears threatened.  “Yeah well, seems I need all the help I can get right now.  Made a right buggering mess of everything.”

Giles laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  They stood together for a moment, silent, and then his uncle said, “The Dingoes are playing tonight, and I need to get back.  Would you like to come, William?”

“Spike,” he insisted. “Please.  Don’t… William’s not who I am anymore.  If Mum saw me now…”

“Fine.  Spike it is.  Coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

There was a new bouncer at the front door.  The new guy glanced curiously at Spike as he nodded to his employer, and Spike gave the man a friendly grin.  The bloke wasn’t Angel – which meant he liked the fellow already.

Inside the club, the music was too loud to speak, so he gestured at a small corner table, motioning his intention to park himself at it.  Giles nodded at him, then made his way to the back.  Spike’s fingers itched for a beer bottle, but he denied himself.  He needed to resist the lure of alcohol and oblivion.  He needed to dry out.  He needed to not…

He found himself at the bar, hand raised for the barman’s attention.

“What’ll you have?”

“A…” 

_Scotch!  Whiskey!  Rum!  Beer!  Anything, just one, just to relax, no big deal, celebrate a start in a new land and-_

The barman looked impatient.  “A Coke,” Spike said, hands trembling.  He wasn’t an alcoholic.  He wasn’t, he wasn’t-

_Am I?_

He just needed a fag.  That was all.  Long flight, half-way ‘round the world, no chance for a smoke before now.

He swallowed the drink in one long gulp then headed out to the alley, cursing his fumbling hands as he tried to light the cigarette.  Once lit, he sucked greedily at the warm smoke, letting the rush of nicotine work its magic until he stood there loose-limbed and relaxed, eyelids drooping in pleasure while he took a final puff.

Back inside, Spike bit out a curse when he saw his table was now occupied, the entire lower level filled to bursting.  He climbed the stairs to the packed balcony and edged his way to the railing.  From there, he had a good view of the pulsating the dance floor below, and his eyes lingered on all the tasty, half-dressed female flesh on display.  He’d always thought of himself as a one-woman man before, but in the last year, Spike had gained an appreciation for sampling the wares, especially when so many were ready and willing.  ‘Course, the ready offers had dried up of late, along with his fame and fortune, but he was willing to bet he could put the accent and bad boy attitude to work if he felt the need for some overnight company.

The current song came to a roaring finish while Spike indulged in a round of fantasizing over which girl he’d like take home for the night.  The singer took a swig of water, dribbling some down his chest, and the girls in front screamed their approval.  “We’re going to take a very short break, and when we come back-”

“ _Buffy!_ ” a redhead near the stage screamed, and others took up the chant.

“ _Buffy!  Buffy!  Buffy!”_

Spike looked around in amazement, his hands gripping the steel bar in front of him.  Bloody hell, Ripper had never mentioned anything about the chit singing, but obviously she did.  And was quite popular at that, given the way a good portion of the club was chanting her name with enthusiasm.

“Who’s Buffy?” he asked the dark-haired beauty next to him when she quit her whistling and stomping.

“Aw man, are you in for a _treat_ , cutie,” she said with a saucy wink.  “Our little Buffy is a helluva hot chick!  She sings just the one song with Devon, but she’ll have you panting her name by the end of it.  I’m all kinds of proud of the girl actually.  Knew her back when she was pigtails and prom dresses, but, ah…”  She pressed up against Spike, and none-too-gently tugged on his earlobe with her teeth.  Her warm breath tickled his ear as she leaned even closer and said, “I gave the girl a few lessons on how to bring it.  Little Miss Buffy took to it like a pro.”

He arched back and tilted his head to get a better look at the buxom brunette draping herself over him, and his nostrils flared as an image of this temptress giving Buffy lessons of a more intimate variety formed in his mind.  “And does Miss Buffy’s teacher have a name?  Something I might perhaps find myself panting out later?” 

She made an approving noise.  “Faith.  You?”

“Spike.”

“Rowr.”  Faith spun to face the stage as the shouts from below picked up again, and insinuated herself between his body and the railing.  “Now shut up and listen.  And, by the way…”  She reached behind, cupping his ass and pulling him tight against her.  “If you feel the need to rub up against something warm and friendly, don’t be shy.”

He gave an experimental wriggle, then froze as Buffy walked out on stage, the woman in front of him forgotten.  Faith hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d given Buffy lessons.  Gone was the girl he knew, and in her place slinked a sultry, smoky-eyed, red-lipped vixen.  Spike’s heart began its usual pitter-patter at the sight of her, but accompanying it now was the sound of blood rushing in his ears as it all headed southward.  Buffy opened her mouth, and he licked his lips and stepped around Faith to get closer to the railing, one of his many secret fantasies coming to life right before his eyes.

By the time the song was over, not only was he panting uncontrollably, Spike had also made his way down the stairs and to the front of the stage, drawn to Buffy like a moth to a flame, all rational thought gone.  She threw a kiss out to the crowd and disappeared as the band went right into their next song.  He stood, eyes glued to the spot where she’d exited, then hurried to the back hallway, hoping to intercept her. 

His skin buzzed as he saw her approaching, and his voice came out a dry rasp. 

“Buffy.”

 

 

Buffy headed for the restroom, desperate to freshen up.  One song in the spotlight was enough to leave her a sweaty mess, the heavy makeup on her face itching and unnatural.  Lost in a mental recap of her performance, she didn’t register the low, “Buffy,” until her downcast eyes happened upon the heavy black boots in front of her.  She looked up, and drew in a sharp breath.

_William, it’s William – those eyes, those cheekbones – he’s here, I’ve found him and-_

Heart in her mouth, her brain caught up to what she was seeing before she could utter his name.  Tight faded blue jeans and black tee, black nail polish and silver rings, tousled bleached blond hair…

“ _Spike_.”  She put as much derision into his name as she could.  So maybe he hadn’t been wrong about Angel, but he was still a first-class creep, and still as much a loser as ever, if his looks were anything to go by.  Okay, fine, his corded arms, lean body, and gorgeous face made her pulse race and her mind scream _Sex God_ , but… loser.  Still. 

Obviously.

His left eyebrow rose, and she noticed it had acquired a prominent, sideways ‘Y’ of a scar since she’d seen him last.  A scar that did _not_ make him look even sexier.  Nope, not one bit.

“Why are you here?  And talking to me?” she spat, and the light in his eyes faded, a confused frown creasing his forehead.

“Here for a visit.”  He rubbed at the back of his neck.  “Wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed hearing you sing.”

Buffy bit her lip, the complement softening her up.  “Oh.  Well.  Thank you.”  She darted a look at him and caught him staring, blue eyes wide and warm.  He dropped his gaze to his boots.

“So, uh… You want to get out of here?  Get some coffee?”

“Not really, but thanks for asking.  Excuse me-”

Spike reached out to stop her, then dropped his hand.  “Look, about Angel.”

She cringed.  Just because he was Giles’ nephew didn’t mean she had to be buddy-buddy with him.  And yeah, she was still pissed about his part in the Angel debacle, never mind the way he had treated her last year.  Best to put a screeching halt to whatever ideas were forming in his bleach-damaged brain.

“Spike.  Let me be absolutely clear.  You and me?  We’re not friends.  And I don’t want to be friends with you.  Angel may have been… not the man I thought he was… but his inadequacies don’t change my opinion of you in any way.”

“His _inadequacies_?  The man was-”

Her spine stiffened.  “I know very well what he was doing.  I don’t need to hear about it from you, thank you.”

“Well, no need to shoot the messenger, pet!”

Buffy scowled.  “That has nothing to do with my dislike of you.  And don’t call me pet.  In fact, don’t call me anything.  I don’t know how long you’re going to be here, but stay out of my way.”

His expression hardened, thumbs tucking into his belt as he leaned forward, his face in hers.  “Might be a bit difficult.  Seeing as I’ll be helping out around the Bronze for my uncle.  You know, the man who owns the place.  Maybe should be you staying out of _my_ way.”

“You?  Helpful?”  She laughed.  “Now that I’d like to see.”  Buffy left him there, fuming, without a backwards glance.

 

 

Spike found Faith sometime after his fifth beer.  “Let’s go.”  He jerked his head towards the door.

She raised an eyebrow.  “Way to romanticize a girl.  Blondie shut you down, huh?  Don’t worry.”  She slung an arm around him.  “She shuts all the boys down.  Lucky for you, I know a real man when I see one.  And I can be very… accommodating.  Mend the hell right out of your poor broken heart.”

They passed Buffy on the way out, where she sat at a table with the redhead who’d shouted her name earlier.  Spike sneered at her when she half-rose, tongue tracing his lower lip.  Her green eyes flashed, and his stupid heart did that thumping thing.  He ignored it.

Faith tossed her hair.  “I gotta tell you B, I’m thinking of doing more good deeds.  I helped you out, and now the universe is repaying me in spades, sending all these fine men my way.  You keep working them up, and I’ll take ‘em home and work ‘em out.”

“Ew.”

Spike snorted, and nuzzled Faith’s hair.  “C’mon, _pet_.  Got more interesting things to do than jabber with the ice queen.”  Buffy shot him the evil eye, but he ignored her.

In the parking lot, his conscience made a brief appearance.  “Gotta warn you, I’m not look for anything beyond tonight.  That going to be a problem?”

Faith slid her hand beneath his shirt, blood-red nails scratching at his chest.  “Don’t worry, hot stuff.  Commitment and me don’t get along.  I have a feeling you and I are going to do just fine.”

 

 

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a bitch, but I don’t feel the need to point it out every time I see you.”  Buffy continued to glare at him, letting him know he was little more than pond scum in her eyes.  Her persistent animosity made it a touch easier to ignore his foolish heart.

She curled her lip.  “Every single night this week, you’ve gone home with somebody different.  After getting completely hammered first, that is.”

Spike slid his hand down his chest and abdomen, which just happened to be shirtless, smirking as her gaze followed, cheeks flushing.  It was hot and sweaty work, after all, mending the broken door to Buffy’s closet of an office.  Naturally, he’d had to take his shirt off.  “Jealous?”

Her eyes jerked back up to his face, and she barked out a laugh.  “God, no.  I’m just wondering, where do you get off tattling on Angel?  I mean, look at _you_.”

“Difference is, I don’t lie about it.  Got no little missus at home, waiting on me to finish my late night at the office.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees to match the chill in Buffy’s voice.  “No, you just have no problem going after a girl that does.  Have somebody.  Makes no difference to you.”

Spike fiddled with the door jamb, his long-buried sense of honor fighting with his need to provoke the annoying chit.  “Up to them if they take the bait.  I’m not responsible for their choices.”  His next words were cut off as found himself suddenly pinned to the wall, her forearm across his chest.

“That was my friend you hit on last night,” she hissed, then let him go.

“Who, Red?  Cute little thing, all blushing and stammering.  Turned me down, though, so no harm done.”

Buffy stared at him, chest heaving with anger.  Spike could have sworn there were tears in her eyes, but he had no idea why.  The silence stretched on, until she closed her eyes, and in low voice that sounded like she was quoting somebody, said, “There’s nothing worse than a man who goes after another man’s girl.”

It was a moment before he realized why those words sounded so familiar.  By the time he’d placed them as his own, she’d slipped past him and fled down the hallway, leaving him gasping as if she’d punched him in the gut.

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike will get it together soon, I promise. Just not yet.

 

“Hey Giles.”  Buffy beamed as she answered the door.  “Mom’s in the kitchen, putting the roast in.  Come on in.”  She stepped aside as he entered, then reached behind to shut the door, only to have it catch mid-swing. 

Startled, she turned to see what the problem was, and groaned.  Letting go of the handle, Buffy hustled Giles into the dining room off the entryway and pulled the sliding door shut.  “You didn’t say _he_ was coming.  Bad enough he’s around the club when I’m trying to work, but now you want to bring him into my house?  Are you crazy?”

Giles took a step back.  “Your mother invited him.  Did she not tell you?” 

“No!  Nobody tells me anything regarding that bleached menace.”

He removed his glasses and began to polish them.  “I understand my nephew can be somewhat… difficult, Buffy.  But he has been going through a rough patch, and I am doing my best to help him.  Please, can you not be civil for the duration of one afternoon?  Try to make him feel welcome?”

“No!  I cannot!  If you want to help him, why don’t you try telling him to quit pretending he’s Billy Idol and get a life.”

“Billy Idol…”  Giles replaced his glasses slowly, brow furrowed.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

He scrubbed a hand across his mouth.  “Last year.  When you waited tables for me and a customer gave you trouble… was he the one you were referring to?”

“Oh my God, did you _just_ get this?  Yes!  Spike is not going through a rough patch, he _is_ a rough patch.  He’s been a jerk since the moment I met him.  I hate to tell you this, but I think it’s a permanent condition.  And I don’t feel like being harassed in my own home.”

“I’ll have a word with him.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, he is capable of being a perfect gentleman.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

An hour later, she was reluctantly forced to admit that Giles was right – Spike _could_ be a perfect gentleman.  There was a brief moment when, upon introductions, he’d glared at his uncle and very emphatically introduced himself as Spike, cutting off whatever Giles had been about to say and leaving Buffy curious as to what his real name was.  Probably something horrible, like Eugene or Randy.  Since then, he’d made small talk with her mother and charmed the pants right off Dawn, which – _ewww_ to the imagery.  And come to think of it, knowing how Spike operated, best to keep an eye on him around her little sister.  The one who was staring at him right now, emitting dreamy little sighs as she gazed at him with big calf eyes.

The timer dinged in the kitchen, and Buffy clamped her hand on Spike’s arm, dragging him to his feet.  “Don’t worry Mom, we’ll take care of it.  You sit there and relax.”  In the kitchen, she checked the roast with the meat thermometer, then whirled on Spike, who sat slouched on one of the stools, fiddling with the salt shaker.

“All right, Mister, I’m on to you.”

“On to me what?” he protested.  “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“And see to it you don’t.  Stay the hell away from my sister.”

He held his hands up.  “Oh, now you’re taking this jealousy thing too far, love.  ‘M not a monster.  Wouldn’t go after the Little Bit.”

“Like I’d take your word for it.”

She was surprised when he stood, face intense, and grasped both her hands with his.  A jolt of electricity passed between them, but though she wanted nothing more than to yank her hands away and scuttle to the opposite side of the room, she held still, unwilling to let him see how much his touch was affecting her.  “Listen to me, Buffy.  I know I’m a bad, rude man.  Dishonorable pig, drunken letch, whatever you want to say about me, it’s likely true.  But I swear to you on my mother’s grave, I’d never touch your sister.  Or any other girl I knew was underage.”

Mouth dry, Buffy swallowed, trying to make sense of the man before her.  He’d thrown a midnight blue silk shirt over his usual black ensemble, as a concession to the formality of Sunday dinner, she supposed, and she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes reflected that darker color.  She swallowed again when his grip on her hands loosened, thumbs tracing small circles on her palms, his serious, sincere expression doing funny things to her stomach.  Instead of running away, now Buffy had to fight the urge to press herself against the lean, muscular chest she knew was under that shirt, desperate to know if he smelled as good close up as he did at this distance.

“M-mother’s grave?” she stammered, latching on to his oath.

Pain flashed across his face.  With a wince of a smile, he said, “Died a few years back, she did.”  He abruptly let go of her hands and retreated a pace or two, turning away from her. 

Suspicion dawned.  He couldn’t be William after all… could he?  Biting her lip, she quoted,

 

“ _Sunset and evening star and clear call for me._

_And may there be no moaning of the bar, when I put out to sea._ ”

 

Spike didn’t move, his body tense, and Buffy waited with baited breath.  After a moment, he waved his hand in the air, back still to her.  “That’s lovely, pet.  Can’t say as I’ve heard it before, is that a poem of some sort?”

“Yeah,” she answered, shoulders slumping.  “Tennyson.  Thought you might know it, being Giles’ nephew and all.”

His face was blank when he turned around.  “Sorry to disappoint.  Not much poetically inclined.  Anyhow, think it’s time to warm your buns up.”

“ _What?_ ”

He gestured to the rolls on the counter, face studiously innocent.  “Roast should be about done, need to pop those in the oven I’d wager.  Or do you not eat warm bread in America?”

“I – I’d better get Mom to double check the meat before I do anything.”  Buffy hurried away from him, disappointed and confused, then stuck her head back into the kitchen.  “What you said about Dawn?  Did you really mean it?”  He nodded without a moment’s hesitation.  “Thanks.  That’s…  Maybe you’re not completely awful after all.” 

His mouth fell open in surprise, and she couldn’t help but grin at how boyish and adorable he looked without his usual leer.

 

 

Spike sat perfectly still.  If he didn’t move, there was a good chance he could keep his head from falling off his shoulders.  A car horn blared outside, and he groaned, fingers to his temples.

Buffy had sung again last night, and his reaction to ‘Hither’ had been just as intense as the first time.  Being near her day after day was delicious agony at best.  Despite the way she cut him, his entire being came to life in her presence, making him long for the way she’d looked at him once.  When she’d known him as William.  Every now and then, he caught her staring at him, curious, and he couldn’t help but hope that she felt something too.  When she’d quoted Tennyson at him, he’d been this close to falling to his knees and confessing his true identity.  Only the fear that she would continue to reject him had sealed his lips.

But last night, when she’d sung…

He’d cornered her again, after.  “You should sing more often.”

“Oh.  Um, yeah.  Oz is trying to talk Devon into letting me have my own song, but he’s not too keen on that idea.  I think he’s worried I’ll steal all his groupies or something.”

“Know I’d switch allegiance.  Could talk to the wanker for you.  Persuade him, like.”

“You know, I don’t think your style of persuasion is what’s needed.”

Things had devolved from there, with the usual results.  Spike had gotten thoroughly snockered, and left with some vapid blonde who, if he squinted just right, looked a bit like the girl he really wanted.  And now he was paying for his sins.

Buffy passed by in the hallway, humming, then backtracked.  “Wow.  You look really bad.”

“Rough night,” he managed between clenched teeth.

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much…” 

Spike opened one eye, and noted with surprise that she looked concerned.  He let his head droop forward.  “Preaching to the choir, love.”

“Right.  Well, I was going to go have lunch with Willow…  You want me to bring you back a coffee or something?  Maybe a new liver?”

He opened his other eye, watched her fidget with her purse straps.  “’Preciate the offer, but right now my big plan is to sit perfectly still and hope The Troll quits banging about my brains.”

Twenty minutes later, coffee began to sound like a good idea.  Spike made his way to the Espresso Pump, eyes shielded against the midday sun.  Coffee in hand, he collapsed gratefully into the armchair in the corner nook, a private spot usually occupied by professionals with laptops.  Eyes closed, he tried to convince himself the muted hum of the other patrons’ voices was soothing.  It worked too, until he realized the voices on the other side of the lattice partition behind his head belonged to Buffy and her friend.

“And then he goes home with Harmony.  Can you believe it?  _Harmony_.” 

Ah, right.  That was her name.  He knew it had been something musical, though her nattering, whiny voice had been anything but. 

“He’s a pig,” Buffy continued.  True, she told him so on a regular basis, but it didn’t boost his ego much to hear her repeating it to her mates.  Spike considered leaving, unsure whether it would be more painful to brave Mr. Sunshine’s cheerful rays or stay here and listen to the Ice Queen bitch about him.

“Okay, what gives with the Spike hatred?” the friend said.  “I mean, I know he’s ooky, in a totally hot and lecherous way, but… you seem to be taking his ookiness personally.”

“That’s because it _is_ personal.”

“And again, I know he’s pushing the line between obnoxious and ooky stalker behavior with you, so, okay, personal, but…”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”  Buffy was silent for a long moment.  “Do you remember William?”

“William?  Ohhhh… _William_.”

Spike had made it halfway out of his chair, but now he sank back down, startled.  And curious.

“Yeah.  William.  You know how I felt about him, Willow.  I’ve always regretted telling him no, and after Angel and I broke up… when I realized I’d kept that stupid pact for no good reason…  I could kick myself.  Every day, I wish I could go back and change that moment.  Say yes, get his number, find out if there really was something between us.  Because I think there was.  Something big.  And I threw it away for that cheating jerk…”

All the breath whooshed out of Spike’s lungs.

“If it was meant to be… maybe you’ll meet him again?”

Buffy sniffled.  “No, I think I blew my one chance.  And hey, this is the girl that doesn’t believe in destiny anymore.”

After a moment of silence, Willow asked, “But what does William have to do with Spike?”

“Because every time I see him, I think I’ve found William again.  He looks just like William.  I mean, his hair is totally different, and he doesn’t wear glasses, and he dresses like an eighties reject…  But his face?  The cheekbones… and those eyes…  You don’t forget features like those.  Not to mention that he’s British too, just like William, even if his accent isn’t the same.”

“Evil twin?  Or… maybe it really is him?”

Buffy snorted.  “When I first see him?  That’s what my brain tells me.  That it’s William with a bad makeover.  My heart speeds up and my mouth goes dry, and I get all... tingly.  And _then_ the asshole speaks, and happy Buffy fantasy time goes bye-bye.  It’s not just the totally different accent – it’s the things that come out of his mouth…  _William_ was a gentleman.  Very sweet.  _Spike_ … is not.  And that’s why I hate him.  With a passion.  Because of the crashing disappointment I feel every time I’m around him, in that instant when I realize he’s not William.”

“Oh, Buffy…”

She sniffled again.  “The other day, I could have sworn he was William anyways, despite the asshole attitude, but… he didn’t recognize Tennyson.  William loved Tennyson…  No way he’s the same guy.”

So that’s why she’d quoted ‘Crossing the Bar’.  She was trying to catch him out.  Spike had had his suspicions.  Maybe he should have given into his instincts.  Let her know who he was.  Buffy wouldn’t have rejected him after all, and-

“You know what?  I’m _glad_ Spike isn’t William.  If he ever did turn out to be the man I spent all those months dreaming about, I’d hate him even more.  All this time I’ve regretted what could have been – and if _he’s_ it?  Ugh.  There just aren’t words for what a disappointment it would be.”

And then again, he’d been right not to speak up after all.  The pounding in his head returned with a vengeance.  Spike abandoned his coffee and hurried away before he vomited all over his boots, the ache in his chest rivaling any he’d ever felt.

_Lucky for you William’s dead, love_ , he thought, heading straight for his uncle’s flat and the liquor cabinet therein.

 

 

Spike wandered past her office, an unlit smoke in his hand, and her eyes followed him, unbidden.  He hadn’t been in Sunnydale for more than two weeks, but it seemed to Buffy as if he’d always been a part of her life, like an annoying cousin you couldn’t get away from.  He puttered about the Bronze during the day, doing odd jobs, and he was there in the evenings, pulling his Don Juan act and doing whatever it was he did to make the women fall all over him.  She couldn’t see the attraction herself, but then, there was no accounting for some people’s taste.  Sure, he was hot, if you were into the bad-boy punk look and sexy-as-hell accent, but his personality negated any latent attraction she might have felt for the man.  Call her crazy, but being an asshole wasn’t one of the things Buffy Summers listed under turn-ons.

What _was_ crazy was the little thrill that ran up her spine whenever she first heard his rough voice in the mornings.  Buffy halfway looked forward to seeing him at work, just so she could invent new ways to insult him.  It had become a kind of game for her.  No matter what she threw at him, he took it all in stride with a leer and a swagger.  She was sure that if she kept at it, one of these days she would come up with just the right words to wipe that knowing smirk off his face, but so far, no such luck.

If Buffy wanted to slap her own face for being stupid enough to almost enjoy his company, she hated herself for the times when she caught herself staring at his body, wondering if a mere man could live up to the wicked promises of his heavy-lidded eyes and supple tongue.  Worse yet was when Spike caught her at it.  His pupils would darken, overtaking the blue of his irises, while that pink tongue first danced over his upper teeth then traced his lower lip, leaving it wet and glistening.  He’d tuck his thumbs into his belt, fingers dangling _just so_ as his hips thrust lazily, lean body moving closer, step by sinuous step, sinful voice rumbling dirty innuendos that left her face flaming in mortification.

For the briefest of moments, she would wonder what it would be like to let her tongue dance with his;  how it would feel to press her body up against all that lean, hard flesh.  And then she would remember she _hated_ Spike, and she would cut him off with harsh words, or if he’d gotten close enough before she could snap out of it, a hard shove to his chest would restore order to the universe.

Even then, he wouldn’t get offended, only waggle his eyebrows and say, “Someday, Summers, you’ll admit you want to dance with me.  I can wait ‘till you come to your senses.”

“Be more like the day I lose my mind.”  Gaze now cold as ice, she’d stare at him once more, until he shrugged and turned away.

With a heartfelt sigh, Buffy forced all thoughts of the stupid jerk out of her brain, and tried to concentrate on her work.  She’d managed to get a fair bit done when Xander barged into her office, face flushed.  “Where is he?” he demanded.

“Who now?”

“ _Spike_.  That worthless piece of shit so has an ass-kicking coming his way…”

Buffy stood and hurried to his side.  “Not that I don’t disagree, but what happened?”

Xander’s face flushed even more, bordering on purple.  “Anya.  He went after Anya.”

“When you say went after-”

“I mean he… last night they…  I’m going to kill him.”  His hands clenched and unclenched.

She grabbed one of his fists.  “Whoa – are you sure?”  Xander only looked at her, his liquid brown eyes filled with pain. 

Her lips thinned.  “He’s probably out in the alley, smoking.  But – you’re not getting into a fistfight with him,” she said, thinking of the state Spike had left Angel in.   “We’ll confront him, okay?  Together.”

Xander stormed ahead and shoved his way through the door, Buffy running after him and catching his arm just as he reared back to punch the startled bleached blond in the alley.

“How _could_ you?” Xander yelled, shaking Buffy off.

Spike’s eyes darted between them, and Buffy noticed how bloodshot they were.  And how pale and sickly he looked.  Giles’ nephew seemed to be drinking himself into an early grave. 

_And good riddance,_ she thought uncharitably.

“Hey now.  Don’t know what your problem is, but if it’s fisticuffs you want, you’ll not come out the winner.”

“My problem?  _My problem?_ ”  Xander’s voice rose several notches, and Buffy grabbed him about the waist.

“You slept with his girlfriend last night,” she said, struggling to hold on to the enraged man.

“No he didn’t.”  Anya emerged from the other end of the alleyway, eyes red and swollen.  Buffy frowned, confused, and Xander stilled completely.  Spike stared at Anya, a perplexed expression upon his face, from which Buffy deduced that he had indeed slept with the other woman. 

So what was going on?

Anya came to stand between Xander and Spike, arms crossed over her chest.  “He didn’t sleep with your girlfriend, because I’m not your girlfriend.”

Xander’s jaw dropped.  “But you – but we – what do you mean you’re not my girlfriend?  We’ve been dating for over a month now.”

“Dating, yes.  But not exclusively.  You haven’t once said anything about being exclusive.  Or that you want to date only me.  Or even that I am your girlfriend.  You’ve in no way made your intentions clear.”

“Well, I didn’t think I had to-”

Anya crossed her arms tighter.  “But why not?  Am I just supposed to assume that you and I are mutually exclusive orgasm partners?  Because I’ve made this mistake before.  Thinking that after a certain number of dates, a relationship is secure and exclusive, but it turned out I was wrong.  I’m not going to assume anymore.  And since you are obviously uninterested in taking-”

“So you just go and assume the opposite?  How about asking me, instead of boinking the first body you find?”

Spike had begun to edge away, and Buffy released Xander to catch the other man by the collar, stopping him in the shadows at the mouth of the alley.  “No, you stay here,” she hissed in his ear.  “You need to see the consequences of your behavior.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw ticked.  “Told you before, love.  I don’t force anyone to make the choices they do.  If the pup’s girl needed more than what he gave her, I only offered.  Not my fault he’s not man enough to keep her.”

“Oh, and you are?”

Spike pulled her close, his pelvis grinding into hers.  “Baby, I’m all man.”

Buffy shoved him away, and he laughed, sending her blood pressure skyrocketing.  She wanted to wipe that filthy leer right off his face, claw his stupid blue eyes out and kick him in the nuts for good measure.  “No.  You’re not.  You’re not a man at all.  How do you live with yourself?”

He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear.  “Remember when you told me I was just jealous ‘cause I wasn’t a man like your precious _Angel_?”  He spread his hands wide.  “I’m only trying to live down to his standards, princess.  Figured this way I had a chance of getting in your knickers, since that’s the kind of man you like.”

Buffy stared at him in shock, trying to fight back tears as all the blood drained from her face.  Spike blinked at her, then sighed.  “Look, I didn’t mean-”

_Crack._

Her hand stung, and bright red marks flared across his pale cheek.  “Every time I think you can’t sink any lower…”  They stood frozen, staring at each other. 

“Buffy?  You okay?” Xander called.

Spike’s mouth worked, but no sounds came out.  With one final, hurt look, she spun away, blinking fiercely as she walked back to her concerned friend.  “I’m fine, Xander.  You guys gonna be okay?” she asked, noting that Anya looked slightly less devastated.

 “Xander and I have agreed to define the boundaries of our relationship more clearly,” the other woman said.  “At a mutually convenient later date.”

Buffy forced a smile.  “Well, good.  Okay.” 

She tossed a glance back over her shoulder, but Spike was nowhere to be seen.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to earn that angst tag. :(

 

For the first time in two years, Buffy found herself with empty summer days and no way to fill them.  She’d helped her mom at the gallery in the morning, gone shopping with her sister in the afternoon, and now she sat on the front porch swing, feet curled under her and a book of poetry forgotten on her lap as she stared moodily down the street.

She hadn’t been back to the Bronze in a week now, not since she and Xander had confronted Spike in the alleyway.  That afternoon, when Giles had come in, she’d told him she needed to spend her remaining three weeks of summer vacation as actual vacation.  Her last chance to be a carefree college student she’d told him, and, naturally, he’d believed her.  She’d even skipped performing with the Dingoes the other night, using a sore throat as an excuse.  It was no lie – she had had a sore throat, from crying the night before.

_Why_ had Spike come to Sunnydale and ruined everything?  Come and interfered with her family, her job, her friends…  Just like the year before.  Buffy had never hated anyone as much as she hated that man, especially now that she’d let him chase her away.  No way was she going to spend another day near him, though.  He’d won.  The bleached menace could have the Bronze.  She wouldn’t set foot in it until he’d gone back to England.

Worse, she was even letting him chase her out of her own home.  When her mother had mentioned Spike would be coming to dinner with Giles tomorrow, she’d called Riley up, finally finding the time for a second date with him.  Right during Sunday dinner. 

What a coincidence. 

If she was lucky, and worked it right, that morning in the alleyway would be the last time she ever laid eyes on Rupert Giles’ stupid, jerky nephew.

“Movie night?” Xander asked, coming up the walkway and disturbing her from her sulk.

“Oh, hey Xand,” she said with a smile.  “I didn’t see you.”

“Well, we don’t see you, now that you’ve absconded from the Bronze.  Guess it means we’re spending the evenings Chez Summers.”

She made room for him on the swing.  “That would be nice.  Anya going to come?”

“I don’t think we’re there yet.”

Buffy leaned on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.”

He blew out a breath.  “Yeah.  Kinda sucks.  I find somebody that I like – really like – and I screw it up.  By not making it clear to her how much I like her.  And I know that part is my fault, but at the same time…”

“It still hurts.”

“You have no idea.”

“But you guys are going to be okay?”

Buffy felt his shoulder shrug beneath her.  “Who can say?  We’re both willing to give it another shot, after we take some time.  And I tell you, your plan of avoiding the Bronze as long as Spike is around is pretty much my plan too.”

“Sucks though.”  She sniffed.  “He should be the one to leave, not us.”

They sat together in silence, the gentle squeaking of the swing’s springs accompanying their private musings until Willow and Oz appeared, strolling hand-in-hand up the sidewalk. 

“Movie night?” Willow asked.

“Movie night,” Buffy agreed, getting to her feet and holding the door open for her friends.

 

 

_One more shot.  For luck_.

Of course, this followed the shot for courage, the shot to cheer him up, the shot to calm him down – and the original double shot of courage.  But Spike thought he was ready now.

It was a testament to how much he’d drunk of late that he didn’t weave even a little bit as he strode down the street, making his way to Buffy’s home under the twilit sky.  Veins full of artificial cheer and courage, he hummed under his breath.  He had a plan.  Buffy would be home, and because he’d be there, in person, face-to-face, she’d have to let him in.  He’d talk to her, and explain, and make everything right between them.  And then his stomach would unclench, and his head stop pounding, and – well it was a good plan, all around.

It had taken him a week or so to cotton on to the fact that she was avoiding him.  After that nasty bit in the alleyway with her friend’s bird, she hadn’t been back to work, but Rupert had said it was only vacation time, so he hadn’t thought twice about it.  Girl worked hard, she was due a holiday before school started up.  But then she hadn’t sung with the Dingoes either, and he’d sorely missed her.  When she’d been out on a date rather than at her mum’s weekly family dinner, Spike had started to get the feeling she was avoiding him – and when he’d tried to call her since, with the result that she was always ‘just leaving’ or ‘too busy to talk’, his suspicions had been confirmed.

When it came to Buffy Summers, Spike didn’t know what he wanted.  But it sure as sodding hell wasn’t this.  He couldn’t help but feel guilty she was missing out on the things she loved, just so as she could miss out on him too.  Hence the plan to fix it.  No idea how yet, but he figured the words would come to him.  If only he could get her to listen in the first place.

He knocked at the door, and it opened right up, Joyce giving him a distracted smile as she fiddled with her earring.

“Spike!  I didn’t know you were coming by, I’m just heading out…”  She turned and yelled, “Dawn, come on!  I don’t want to be late!”

“No worries Mrs. Summers, I’m here to see your eldest.  She home?”

“Upstairs,” she said.  Dawn came to the door, all smiles, and Joyce hurried her outside.  “You don’t mind seeing yourself in…?”

He waved his hand.  “Don’t be late.”  Inside, door shut, elation battled with apprehension.  She was here, which meant the chance to talk to her.  Heart pitter-pattering, stomach churning, Spike called out, “Buffy?  ‘Lo?”

No answer.  He laid his duster over the banister and climbed the stairs, two at a time.  “It’s Spike,” he yelled again, not wanting to surprise her.  All he got in return was the sound of water running.  He followed it to what had to be the bathroom.

Showering.  Right.  So…  Go downstairs and wait?  Leave and come back?  Knock and let her know he was here?

He dithered, pacing back and forth in the hallway, then knocked, before the triple shot of courage could wear off and he tucked tail and ran, the coward inside his head whispering that Buffy would be off to university soon and then it wouldn’t much matter anymore.  Spike didn’t want to listen to that voice.  An asshole he might be, but he couldn’t bear to think he’d broken her.

“Come in,” she yelled, and his hand froze on the door.  Obviously, she didn’t know it was him…  But maybe he could just pop his head in, tell her he was here.  He twisted the knob, and ended up having to shove the humidity-swollen door with his shoulder, grunting as it jolted its way past the jamb.  Spike staggered inside the small room, his senses assaulted by the warm and wet scent of Buffy’s floral shampoo.  His heart raced even faster when he realized he was only a thin, white shower curtain away from seeing her in her altogether.

“We so need to fix that door,” she said.  “Hey, can you hand me the new shampoo bottle under the sink?  This one’s emptier than a donut box after Xander’s finished with it.”

One glistening hand peeked out around the curtain, and his voice froze in his throat.  Spike couldn’t have spoken if his life depended upon it.  He glanced at her hand, desperately trying to keep from imagining the naked arm attached to it, never mind the naked body, and decided the best thing to do would be to hand her the bottle and scurry the hell out of there before she was any wiser to his presence.  He would go sit on the couch, tell her Joyce had just left when she came downstairs…  He rooted under the cabinet and found a bottle of shampoo, unable to resist whispering his fingers across hers when he dropped it in her waiting hand.

The cap snicked.  “Thanks,” Buffy said, and Spike’s imagination went wild, making him forget his plan to skedaddle.  Visions of her danced in his head – arms raised up to lather the shampoo in, hot water running over her shoulders and down her breasts, coursing along her belly and between her legs…

His hand crept to the top button of his jeans without conscious thought, and he flicked it open as his other hand leaned on the bathroom counter to support his shaking knees.

“You’re being awfully quiet.  And shouldn’t you have left already?” Buffy asked, and before Spike knew what was happening, she had poked her head around the curtain.  Her eyes widened with fear as she took in first his unexpected presence, and then the placement of his left hand, hovering over his fly.

It was one of those moments when time slowed to molasses, and muscles moved slower still.  Spike could only stand there, frozen, as Buffy gasped, eyes darting around the room in panic.  He opened his mouth to say – well, fucked if he knew what, precisely, but he never got the chance.  With seemingly superhuman speed, Buffy snatched up the towel on the hook and bunched in front of her with one hand.  The other darted out quick as a snake, two fingers jabbing him in the Adam’s apple with enough force to send him to his knees, gasping and choking.

She was away before he could climb to his feet, water spraying out the open curtain and drenching the floor.  Spike hurried after her, slipping and sliding on the wet tile as he wheezed and gurgled, stars exploding in his vision, desperate to catch up to her and explain before something worse happened.

He tumbled down the stairs after her and into the kitchen.  One hand clutched at his throat while held he the other out in supplication.  “Please,” he rasped out, but Buffy held a wicked knife in one hand and the phone in her other, forearm tucked tight against her chest to keep the loosely wrapped towel from falling.

“Stay the fuck back!”  She waved the knife as her thumb punched the numbers on the phone, one-two-three times.

“Buffy,” he gurgled.  “Wasn’t… just… listen…”

“Help!” she screamed into the phone.  “There’s a man in my house, he came into the bathroom and…”

Spike fell to his knees on the floor.  A shrill buzzing in his ears drowned out her words, and his mind whirled, the alcohol in his system choosing this moment to make itself known.  Dimly, he noted his pants were wet, and his shirt too.  His breath wheezed in and out of his bruised air pipe, adding to the din in his head.

“Buffy…” he tried again.

“ _Don’t move._ ”

“Won’t.  Only came… talk.  Fix… things.”

“You came to _talk_?  Funny how I heard no words.  You need to take your pants off to make your mouth work, you sick pervert?”

His eyes rolled back in his head from the pain, but he clung to consciousness.  “Buggered things up.  Again.”

She didn’t answer.  Spike heard the sounds of sirens in the distance, growing steadily closer.  He slumped sideways onto the floor, the cold linoleum soothing against his overheated skin.  “Won’t move.  Won’t hurt you.  Don’t worry.”

He retreated to somewhere in the depths of his mind, reality coming to him through a thick haze, only brief snatches of sight and sound penetrating the fog.  Buffy sobbing.  The cold metallic clink of handcuffs behind his back.  A hand on his head as he was pushed into a police cruiser.  Buffy dressed and shivering, standing in her front doorway, watching as he was taken away.

 

 

“We need you to come down to the station and make a statement.”

Buffy trembled despite the officer’s best efforts to soothe her.  “I… I don’t know what happened.”

“That’s our job, Miss Summers.  To determine what happened.  But whether or not charges are pressed, you need to make a statement.  It’s best to document these things.  Makes it easier to prosecute this ‘Spike’ if there’s a pattern.”

“How will I get home?”  She didn’t like the sound of her voice.  Tiny and scared.  Unsure. 

“One of our officers will bring you home.  Or you can call somebody to come get you.”

She stood and shuffled to the closet to fetch a woolen jacket, despite the warm summer night.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike’s coat on the stair rail, and she jerked her head away, eyes closed.  “My mom.  I want my mom.”

At the station, she gave her statement in a flat voice, head aching.  Describing the scene out loud, she wondered just what Spike’s intentions had been.  From where she’d stood, naked, vulnerable, shocked, things had seemed clear, but now…  Was it possible she’d misread him?

“Can – can I see him?”

“Who?” the officer asked, puzzled.

“Spike.”  He hesitated.  “I just…  He’s never…  I mean, he’s a jerk, but he’s never made me feel… unsafe before.  If I could see him, maybe I’d understand…”

Standing behind the one-way mirror, watching Spike, her confusion grew.  He sat hunched on the floor in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around his legs, hands cuffed in front, head bowed and shoulders shaking.  Crying.

Not the actions of a man who’d been intent on evil.

“Can I talk to him?” she whispered.

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

Buffy gestured to the broken man.  Without his usual puffed-up bravado, he looked smaller, almost childlike.  “I think…  I’m wondering if I overreacted.  I mean, look at him.”

The officer sighed.  “Don’t approach the suspect.  Remain on the opposite side of the room.  I shall remain in the room with you.”  She nodded, eyes glued to the man on the other side of the window.

Spike’s head snapped up as she entered.  He rubbed at his eyes, tear-stained face frightened and hopeful at the same time.

Buffy watched him back.  “What were you doing there?  In my bathroom.”

When he answered, his voice was thick and hoarse.  “Swear, I was just coming to talk to you.  Apologize.  Knocked to let you know I was there, and you said come in and…”

He darted a look at the policeman behind her shoulder.  “Had too much to drink.  Wasn’t thinking clearly.  You smelled so good and…”  Spike dropped his eyes.  “Wasn’t going to touch you, I swear.  Wasn’t even going to touch myself.  Was just… the waistband got too tight,” he mumbled, head averted.

She sighed, and slumped into the nearby chair.  “Right now, this is your chance to say whatever it is you wanted to say.  Because I don’t ever want to see you again.  I don’t want you near my house, my family, am I clear?  You stay away, and I won’t press charges.”

Spike nodded, his features sagging with relief.  “Fair enough.”

“So what did you want to tell me?”

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.  “Was going to apologize.  Tell you you didn’t need to avoid me.”  He waved his hand, the other one forced to go with it by the handcuffs.  “Make things right somehow.  Instead it’s all gone pear-shaped.”

“If that’s some strange British way of saying you screwed things up more, yeah.  You did.”  She turned her back on him, her voice clear and steady as she told the policeman, “I’m done.”

 

 

“No Mom, it’s not his fault.  You can’t.”

Twin spots of color burned on her mother’s cheeks, and her hands shook, though her face was set in determination.  “Yes, it is.  He vouched for that man.  Brought him into my home.  Put my daughters in danger.”

“I don’t know if I was actually-”

“Buffy, when you’re a mother, you’ll understand this.  _Nothing_ is more important than the safety of your children.  _Nothing_.”

“So blame Spike.  Not Giles.  Giles is a good man, Mom.”

Joyce’s lips thinned.  “From what I understand, Spike’s behavior has been unacceptable for some time, and steadily deteriorating.  What has Rupert done to put a stop to this?”

“I’m sure he’s talked to him…”

Her mother sighed.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be putting this on you.  You’ve been through enough.  Let’s just… do you want to watch a movie?  Have some ice cream?”

“I don’t think ice cream is going to fix anything.”

“But it won’t hurt.”

Buffy smiled, though she had to force it.  “Well then.  Mint chip all around.”

 

 

Spike had never had Ripper let loose on him before.  He didn’t much like it.  To say he was terrified of his uncle right now was a bit of an understatement.  He gurgled and wriggled his toes, trying to find purchase on solid ground that wasn’t there.  Giles had him pinned up against the wall of his office, hands fisted in his shirt, and the older man’s eyes flashed with righteous fury.

“Barely three days since I had to pick you up from the police station, full of promises about how you were truly going to change this time, and now look at you.  Drunk yet again, harassing my employees when I’ve already lost my best one due to your loutish behavior…”

Harassing was an exaggeration, though Spike wasn’t about to point it out.  Buffy still hadn’t been back to the Bronze.  Not that he blamed her.  He blamed himself for everything.  After three days of self-flagellation, he’d broken down, seeking solace in a bottle.  Which had led to artificially improved spirits, and that had led to him flirting – persistently, it was true – with Faith.  She’d been a good sport about it, but Giles had caught him trying to encourage her into a compromising position, and the older man had lost it, dragging his nephew by the hair to the back office, where he was laying into him now.

“You are nothing more than a self-centered twat who is throwing his life away, and ruining mine and everybody else’s in the process.  So you’ve had a few disappointments?”  Ripper shook him, then slammed him back into the wall.  His head bounced, and the windows rattled.  “We all do.  It’s a part of life.  Get over it.  It does not give you the license to behave like a spoiled child.”

“I was only-”

Ripper slammed him against the wall again, making him see stars.  “You were only thinking of yourself, _Spike_.  It’s no wonder Buffy wants nothing to do with you.  You’re not good enough for her – or any other woman around here, for that matter.  I never thought I would say such things, but I am glad your mother isn’t alive to see what you’ve become.”

“Because your parents were so proud of _you_ , Ripper.”  He was playing with fire, he knew it.  But bringing up his mother had hurt more than anything else his uncle could have said.

Giles leaned in closer, blue eyes like daggers.  His voice dropped.  “No.  They weren’t.  And rightly so.  They kicked me out on my arse and told me to come back when I was a man.  I’m doing you the same courtesy.  You, William, have done as you pleased the entire time you’ve been here, and I’ve ignored your antics, hoping you would come to your senses and remember how your mother raised you.  But this ends now, before you further destroy my business and my relationships.”  He released Spike, who promptly slid down the wall.

Striding to his desk and reaching into a drawer, he pulled out an envelope.  “There is a thousand dollars in here.  That should be a sufficient amount to get you through a few weeks, until you find employment.  I shall pay for your return flight to London as well.”  He held the envelope out to Spike.  “Understand this is the last I shall do for you, until you’ve made a serious effort to clean up your act.  I cannot help you unless you choose to help yourself.”

His uncle stared at him a moment longer, and then his face softened.  “Get help, William.  Join AA, or something.  Pull yourself together.  When you are a decent man again, the kind of man your mother raised you to be, come back.”

Spike took the proffered envelope.  “I…” 

He really didn’t know what to say.  What did you say when you’d alienated the last person willing to help you? 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  Be the man you were meant to be.”

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

 

“I hate men.  They all suck.”

“Absolutely,” Willow agreed.

Buffy sniffed and readjusted the phone against her ear.  “Or maybe it’s me.  I have some internal radar that says, ‘Oooh, look at that one.  Womanizing douchebag – he must be the man for me’.”

“It’s not you…”

“So I’m just two for two on picking the world’s worst men?”

Willow made a sympathetic noise.  “If I were there, I’d thump Parker for you.  Or maybe just make you some cookies.”

“I wish you were.  Here.”  Buffy sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue.  “We could watch bad movies and eat tubs of ice cream and complain about the stupidness of men.”

“Exactly.”

“And now I know you’re just humoring me.  Since you have nothing to complain about.  You got one of the few good ones.”

Willow laughed softly.  “This is true.  But it’s part of the Best Friend Manifesto – to give succor and comfort whenever required.  It’s rule number four, I think.”

Buffy giggled a little through her tears, remembering the Manifesto they’d put together during a sleepover in junior high.  “God, how could I have been so stupid?  Again?  I should have known better than to fall for slimy Parker’s seduction techniques.  Making me feel like he was so deep and mysterious, with the pain and the hurting from his father’s death…”

“I wouldn’t blame yourself.  It sounds like he’s perfected his system…”

“Yeah,” she agreed glumly.

“And just when you were finally over Angel…”

“Yeah,” Buffy repeated, even glummer.

Willow sighed.  “My offer still stands.  I’ll come thump him if you want me to.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t in my class.  But I _have_ to see him, three times a week, unless I skip.”

“Don’t skip!”

“No… no…  It just hurts, you know?”

“I know.  But… at least there’s only one month left in the semester…  Then it’ll be over.  And you get to come home for the holidays!”

Buffy smiled, her spirits picking up.  “Hey, look at that!  I’m suddenly feeling all kinds of better.”

 

 

Buffy made her way to Giles’ apartment on the day after Christmas, feeling as though she was reliving her parents’ divorce.  Her Mom was still on the warpath against all things Spike related, which included Buffy’s mentor.

“Hey,” she said with a hug and a kiss to his cheek.  “Merry Christmas.”

“And a Happy Christmas to you.  How was your penultimate semester?”

She shook her finger at him.  “No trying to trip me up with funny words.  And it was fine.  I do have a favor to ask, though.”

“Oh?”

“Presents first.  Then school stuff,” she said, removing her coat.

Curled up on one end of his sofa, gifts exchanged, she admired the soft, leather bound journal he’d given her.  “It feels just right.”  She hefted it in her hand, then held it to her nose.  “Smells right too.”

Giles made an effacing gesture, his British upbringing not allowing more.  “I have something for Dawn as well.  And your mother, but…”

Buffy swallowed past the lump in her throat.  “You better hang on to it for now.”  She _knew_ their breakup wasn’t her fault, but she still couldn’t help feeling guilty.  “Have I told you lately how sorry-”

“Please do not apologize.  My nephew-”

“It’s not really his fault either, though.  Is it?”

The glasses came off.  “Perhaps not.  Perhaps things would not have worked out anyhow.  However, if we were to assign blame, he would take the lion’s share, my dear.  Then myself, for not stepping in sooner.  You, on the other hand, deserve none at all.”

Buffy fidgeted.  “I think Mom really blames herself.  She let him in, you know, and then left me alone with him…”

“But it is easier to blame me.  And I am willing to accept that.”

They sat in awkward silence.  “So…  Spike…” she began.  “Is he… better?”  It seemed polite to inquire, at least.  And she didn’t hate him anymore, not exactly.  It wasn’t pity, either.  But she couldn’t wish him ill, not after seeing his tears of remorse.  Whatever else Spike was, he wasn’t evil.

Giles sighed.  “He chose to go to a rehab center, and I believe it was effective.  He’s been gainfully employed since, and tells me he hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since he left America.  He’s even singing again.”

“He sings?”  Buffy racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d known that.

“Ah…  Yes.  A bit.  I taught him his way around a guitar when he was younger.  He says he’s been doing open mike night in a local pub, that type of thing.”

She digested this.  “Well, that’s good.  Good.  Spike’s not ever going to be my favorite person in the world, but…”  She shrugged one shoulder.  “You know.”

He gave her a tight smile.  “Quite.  Now, about this favor…?”

“Oh!  And, you know, no need to say yes if you don’t want to, I can totally go to somebody else, but I thought it was a good idea and-”

“Buffy?  I cannot say yes or no until you tell me what it is.”

She blushed.  “Heh.  Okay, so I have to do a senior project type thing.  Work with an actual business on a P.R. project and increase their revenue.”

“Sounds like what you did for me these last two summers.”

“A little, yeah.  Except it has to be something new, something the business hasn’t done before.  A new promotion, or… whatever.  So anyhow, I thought of something really cool for the Bronze.  And since it’s my project, I would do most of the work on it…”  She stood to pace, nervous.  “If you don’t like it, that’s okay.  I have other options – normally we’re supposed to choose Flagstaff-based companies, but they’re okay with us doing a project for a family business instead.  I already asked, and my advisor said it was fine to work with you if I wanted.  Since the promotion would actually occur in the summer, I’d have to defer graduation until next fall, but I’m okay with that.”

“And again, until I know the details, I cannot answer you,” Giles said, chuckling.  “What is your idea?”

She bit her lip.  “I was thinking the Bronze could host a Battle of the Bands.  Two weeks in the summer – or longer if we get lots of competitors.  Any band within the greater Los Angeles area.  And we can get sponsors, and prizes…  Theoretically people from all over would come to support their favorite band, and then they’d come back because the Bronze is cool.  Repeat business equals increased profits.”

“It would require an inordinate amount of work.  A fair bit of which is beyond your scope, I believe.”

Buffy shook her head, on a roll now.  “Well, it’s _supposed_ to be a lot of work.  Plus, the department has all kinds of consultants available for us to ask questions of and learn from.  The idea is to learn, after all.  But if you don’t want to-”

Giles rose and took her hand in his, putting a halt to her nervous pacing.  “I do believe your idea has merit.  Of course, I’d need to see your full pitch first – do you have one yet?”

She nodded.  “Uh huh, that was last semester’s project – to work up a number of different ideas.  I have scenarios and projections and…”  Buffy came to a realization.  “Hey, I’m like a real business woman!”

Giles laughed.  “Since that is what your university courses are meant to train you for, it is good to know your time was well spent.”

She stood taller.  “Yeah.  It was.”  Confident and happy, she threw her arms around the older man.  “So.  When do you want me to tell you how I’m going to make your business thrive?”

 

 

“’Lo Uncle Rupert.”

“William!  What a pleasure!”

“Still Spike.”  His uncle grunted an acknowledgement.  “Right.  Well, anyhow, I was wondering…  You mentioned once you might have a job for me.  Helping to run the club.  Is that…  Does the offer still stand?”

There was a sound of shuffling papers on the other end.  “As long as you do not intend to regress to your previous abhorrent behavior, yes, I do believe I could use your help.”

Spike let his breath out in a rush.  “I’m on the straight and narrow now.  It’s been seven months – no alcohol, no fights, no women.”

“None?”

“Not a one,” he said.  “’M as clean as a boy scout.”

“Have you considered graduate school?”

He shook his head, even though his uncle couldn’t see him.  “I’m not…  I don’t think that’s the right path for me just now.”

“Hmmm.  And what of your musical career?  Your band?”

_Yeah, about that… we’d love to have you back, Spike, but it would mean kicking Danny out…  He may not be quite the singer you are, but he’s been stable.  Reliable.  Asking him to leave’s not fair to him, eh?  I’m sorry…  I wish you luck, mate.  If he ever quits, I’ll be sure to ring you up._

 Spike’s jaw had clenched at the memory of Charlie’s words, and he forced it to relax, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose.  “Not my band anymore, is it?”

“Ah.  Well, I’m sorry to hear that.  If you’re sure this is what you want, then yes, by all means, I am more than happy to offer you a job.  My assistant manager has been less than stellar, and I’ve been considering replacing him.  It will require some paperwork with immigration, but I’m sure we could work it out.”

“I wouldn’t be… uh… stepping on Buffy’s toes, would I?  If I were to return?”

Giles was silent for several moments, and then he cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry.  You surprised me there.  That you even thought to ask is proof of how you have matured.  This increases my confidence in you, son.” 

“Thanks,” Spike mumbled.  Knowing he was once more earning his uncle’s respect left a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he felt as if his life might be worth something after all. 

“As to your question, Buffy has a project she will be finishing up with me over the summer, but she is planning to work for her mother come June.  So no, you won’t be stepping on her toes.  However, if she expresses any discomfort at the idea of you returning to Sunnydale…”

“She comes first.”

“Yes.  Frankly, yes, she does.”

Spike swallowed.  If his uncle chose Buffy over him, it was only part of his penance. 

“I understand.  As well she should.”

 

 

Spike loitered outside the Sunnydale Art Gallery, smoking like a chimney and telling himself he didn’t need a drink.  Alcohol was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.  He ground out the butt, took several quick breaths, and pushed open the door.  This was part of his atonement.  The addiction counselor had made it clear: he had to right the wrongs he’d committed under the influence, if he could.  And if not, he had to at least apologize. 

Spike wanted to apologize, anyway.  Well, maybe wanted to wasn’t quite the way he would put it… needed to was more like it.  Buffy’s mum was a good lady.  She’d been kind to him, treating him like family, and he’d repaid her poorly.  Not on purpose, of course, though it wasn’t likely she saw it that way.  He fully expected to have his apology thrown back in his face, along with harsh words and harsher looks.

Still.  He’d been raised to do right. 

Joyce sat behind the counter, peering at the computer monitor.  The gallery was empty except for the pair of them, the artfully lit room hushed and peaceful. 

Spike spoke from the doorway.  “Mrs. Summers?”  It came out as a croak.

Her head whipped up, and she gasped.  “What – what are you – get out!”

He held his hands up. 

_Please_.

“Look, you’ve every right to hate me.  Just let me say my piece and I won’t trouble you anymore.”  She picked up the phone, but only held it in her hand, and Spike took it as permission to continue.  “I did you wrong.  You and Buffy.  I’d had too much drink, and I made some stupid choices, though none was with the intent to harm your daughter in any way.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, mustering the courage to go on.  Joyce hadn’t said anything yet, but if looks could kill…  Spike rubbed the back of his neck and forced himself to continue.  “I wanted to let you know I’ve been to rehab since.  Haven’t touched a drop in nine months now.  I also wanted you to know I’m back in Sunnydale, working for my uncle.  But, uh…  I won’t be bothering you or your daughters.  You have my word on that.”

Joyce snorted.

“Right.  Guess my word means bugger all.”  He waved his hand depreciatingly.  “Don’t expect you to forgive me, but if there’s anything I can ever do… some way to make it up to you…  You can find me at the Bronze.”  He turned to the door, then turned back.  “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”  With a bob of his head, he made to leave.

“Spike?”  There was no heat in her voice, but there was no warmth either.

“Uh, yeah?”

Mrs. Summers came around the counter, and stopped several feet away.  “You’re right – I don’t forgive you.  You terrorized my daughter, and that’s not something a mother forgives.  I do appreciate the apology, however.  I am aware of how difficult this must have been for you.  But…”  She brandished the phone like a weapon, jabbing it in time to her words.  “You come near Buffy or Dawn again, and I will hurt you.  Are we clear?”

Spike swallowed.  So this was where Buffy got her fire from.  “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.”  She turned her back on him and, dismissed, he left.

 

 

Spike hit the replay button, and Buffy’s voice echoed out of the computer speakers once more, while the screen filled with her face.  Dawn had uploaded Buffy’s final show choir concert to YouTube when she and Joyce had gone out to watch it this past weekend, and after catching it over his uncle’s shoulder earlier in the day, Spike was replaying the video every spare moment he had.  On the screen, Buffy dipped and twirled, her face radiant.  She looked like an angel, and his heart squeezed in his chest as he ghosted his fingers over her digitized face. 

“She’s something special, isn’t she?”

Spike started, embarrassed at having been caught.

“Yeah.  Girl’s got talent,” he told his uncle gruffly, clicking the window shut and hurrying to his feet.  Giles laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into the chair.

“Stay a moment.  With Buffy returning to Sunnydale in a few days, I believe there are matters we need to discuss.”  Giles perched on the edge of the desk, and Spike looked down, avoiding his gaze.  “While the two of you shan’t be working together directly, I have no doubt you will have occasion to interact.  Despite your previous behavior, I am confident you shall conduct yourself with honor.  However…  As my primary concern is Buffy’s well-being, I need to know, William.  Do you harbor feelings for her?”

 “You can’t let her know my name’s William,” he burst out, accent reverting to that of his youth in his distress.  “She can never know.  Promise me, Rupert.  _Please_.”

Giles flinched at his vehemence.  “What on earth are you on about?  You’re making no sense whatsoever.”

Spike laughed dismally, hands scrubbing over his face.  “I’ve harbored feelings for her, as you put it, for years.”

“Years?  But you barely know the girl.  And what does this have to do with keeping your Christian name from her?”

“Know her better than you’d expect.  And she knows me better than she thinks as well.”  Spike paused, lost in his memories.  With a heavy sigh, he decided to come clean.  Share the burden of his failure with someone else.  “Remember when Mum died, and I drove cross-country?”  Giles nodded.  “I met her then.  At a library in Flagstaff.  She met William over Tennyson, and… what can I say?  Sparks flew.  She met William, and God help me, she _liked_ the pathetic git.  But she was dating that pillock, Angel, so… that was that.  She told me all about their sodding pact, ‘cept we know now he didn’t honor it in any way.  She did, though.  Good girlfriend, loyal, right?  The pair of us went on with our lives, never expecting to see one another again.

“In the meantime, I met this Angel, and, wanker that I am, I let my opinion of him influence my opinion of Buffy.  Decided she’d only been playing poor Willie for a fool.  So when I encountered her again, here at the Bronze a year later…  I lashed out.  Treated her to the uglier side of Spike.  Things rather went downhill from there.  Realized I was wrong soon enough, but she hated me good and proper by then.” 

He was on a roll now, confessing everything he’d held in for so long.

“Dru left me because of her, you know.  Knew I’d lost my heart to another, sent me on my merry way.  ‘Course I blamed Buffy for that too, took it out on her.  Ugliness all around, and…  Needless to say, the girl is better off without me.  Better off keeping William as a fond memory and never knowing the fellow she hates so is one and the same.”  Spike sniffed, shoulders slumped, his body radiating weariness.  “Want to keep that memory pure for her.  Need to know there’s some part of me she doesn’t hate.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Get no argument from me.”

Giles shook his head, then removed his glasses and pulled out the polishing cloth.  “Do not take this as my blessing to pursue a relationship with Buffy, but…  If you showed her who you really are, William…  Let her see the real you instead of this Spike persona…”

“Nah.  S’too late.  I bollixed everything up good and proper.  I’ll just…”  He waved his hand.  “Pine from afar.”

“Fools, the pair of us,” Giles said with a sad smile.  “Both of us over the moon for Summers women, with no chance in hell of ever winning them.”

Spike looked up, curious.  “Yeah.  What happened there?”

His uncle only shrugged and turned away.

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

Buffy was majorly confused.  At best, she’d expected Spike to be slightly less obnoxious;  at worst, more or less the same jerk he’d always been.  But she didn’t recognize this man.  Oh sure, he looked the same.  A body that spoke of sin and wickedness, complete with ridiculous badass retro-punk appearance.  If anything, he looked healthier than she remembered.  Probably because he wasn’t drinking himself to death anymore.

His behavior, though, was completely different.  At least around her.  She’d seen him interacting with other women, flirting in his usual bad boy way, with the smirk and the tongue and the innuendo, but the minute she came near he clammed up, shuffling his feet and retreating before could say two words to him.  It perplexed her.

Even more confusing was her own behavior.  She’d expected to be jumpy around him, but he never came near enough to make her feel unsafe, always retreating to a distance of several feet.  If he didn’t leave the room altogether.

She found she missed his attitude and his snark.  She missed the way he’d made her temper flare and her blood boil.  She missed how he’d arch his eyebrows at her while his tongue moved in a way that was probably illegal.

Obviously there was something seriously wrong with her.

After several days of this, she cornered him behind the bar one morning, where he was on his knees tallying up the liquor bottles under the counter, portable radio playing softly in the background. 

“Hey, Spike.”

“Buffy.”  He climbed to his feet, clipboard in hand and a trapped look upon his face.  To get past her, he’d have to shove her away from the flip counter.  Or hop over the glossy bar top.  Either way, it would be an ignominious retreat, but from the way his eyes darted about, he seemed plenty willing to risk looking foolish in order to get away from her.

Time to be direct.  “Xander said you apologized to him.  For that mess with Anya.”  His eyes snapped to her face, expression wary.  “You really have turned over a new leaf, huh?”

Spike winced.  “Tried to tell you before, ‘m not always an ass.  Was in a bad place then.”         

She made a noncommittal noise.  From what she’d seen of his behavior, he still got plenty of action, even if he wasn’t self-destructive anymore.  He lost points with her for being a bit of a man-whore, but he’d definitely gained others by staying dry.  She hadn’t once seen him with anything other than a soda in his hand.  Curious, she gestured to the rows of bottles glinting under the bar lights.  “Is it hard?  Doing the Sam Malone?”

Brows drawing together, Spike said, “Come again?”

“TV character.  Barman who was a reformed alcoholic, couldn’t touch a drop.”

“Oh.” 

His hand twitched, jiggling the thick silver link bracelet higher up his forearm.  He scuffed his feet and looked away, and Buffy frowned.  Who was this man?  Okay, sure, there was the awkwardness of the bathroom incident, but… he’d apologized and she’d dropped it.  Was he really still so worried about her reaction that she made him this nervous?

Spike ran a hand through his hair, and said under his breath, “Hard is an understatement.”  He looked sideways at her, exhaled loudly.  “Was there something you wanted?”

“Uh.  No.  I guess not.”  She didn’t leave, though, but remained by the bar, watching him fidget and squirm.  “Spike – about last year, when you-”  He blanched and glanced about for an avenue of retreat.  “Look, you already made your apologies, and more importantly, you’ve paid your dues.  Got help, and did as I asked.  Stayed away from me and my family.  So I’m over it, okay?”  She took a step closer, and he backed away.  “No need to go all Nervous Nellie when I’m around.  Just be yourself.”  Buffy cocked her head, a ghost of a smile playing about her lips.  “Well, maybe not _yourself_ …”

He gave a shaky laugh.  “Right.  ‘Cause then you’ll be right back to pissed at me.”

She took another step towards him.  “Not saying I wanna be best pals and braid each other’s hair.  But we’re okay.  Really.”

His entire body stilled, blue eyes blazing as he searched her face, and the intense emotions swirling in their depths took her breath away.  It was his turn to step closer, Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat as he swallowed.  “Don’t know as I deserve your forgiveness, pet.”

Buffy found herself reaching for his hand, and she gave it a quick squeeze before she dropped it.  He stared at her, eyes wide and round.  She retreated to the other side of the counter, fingers clasped together to still the slight tremble the brief contact had aroused. 

Voice steady despite her shaking hands, she said, “Well, if you still feel the need to make it up to me, you could help me with this press release.  Something’s not quite right, and I need a fresh perspective.  Maybe you’ll figure out what’s wrong.”

She ignored the part of her mind that was screaming she was crazy.  It was one thing to be cordial.  It was an entirely different thing to ask for his company, no matter what the reason. 

_I just want to get over this awkwardness.  Since we kinda have to work together all summer long.  That’s all it is.  Because Spike is totally ‘ew’._

It had nothing to do with the way he bit his lip and offered her a tentative smile, or the way he smelled so good walking beside her back to her office, his fingers twitching as he peeked at her from under long, dark lashes. 

Nothing at all.

 

********

 

“Seems fair enough to me.”  Veruca, the lead singer of Shy, shrugged.  “Still get to play, so…”  The other members of her band nodded.

There was a whispered conversation between the second group of people in the room, and then they nodded too.  “We got no problems with it,” the drummer for Winged Freaks said.  “Like Veruca said, we still get to play, and if your contest works out right, we’ll get all kinds of exposure from it.”

Buffy nodded, relieved.  She and Giles had decided it would only be fair to exclude the local bands from entering the Battle of the Bands contest, those who played regularly at the Bronze and considered it their home club.  Otherwise, other competitors might claim favoritism if one of them won.  And as she’d explained earlier, the three bands would probably receive compensation of some sort from the sponsors and LA radio stations for acting as hosts of the contest.

“Great.  So I’ll let you guys figure out scheduling.  As long as it comes out more or less equal, that’s all I care about.  Just to remind you, the contest will run for twenty-eight days total, starting July twentieth.”  She pointed to the date on the large calendar she’d drawn on a portable dry erase board.  Then she pointed to a second date.  “The last day is the prizes and awards day.  Each day, the first set starts at eight, the second at nine.  Whichever of you is hosting that night gets the stage after, or if you don’t want to play, we’ll do canned music.  Just go ahead and write your names in on the dates you want to play host.”

She turned to the Dingoes.  “When you guys are done here, let me know.  I have a few other things I need to go over with you.”  Oz gave her a tiny wave of acknowledgement. 

On the other side of the room, the front door opened, admitting the bright afternoon sun into the dim interior.  Harmony flounced in, headed straight for the stage where Spike was testing sound equipment.  Her high-pitched squeals rang throughout the club, and Buffy winced, her opinion of Spike dropping several notches when the bubbly blonde wrapped her arms around him in a familiar fashion and kissed the top of his head.

Nose wrinkled, Buffy turned away and made her way to the relative peace of her office.

She was in the midst of a phone call when the Dingoes trooped in, cramming themselves into the tiny room.  The Troll took the solitary chair, Oz and Devon perched on the arms, and Sam, the bass player, leaned against the doorframe.  She finished the call and then turned to them.

“Everything go okay out there?”

Devon complained about how the other bands had taken all the best slots, but by the time she’d heard from the other Dingoes members, she realized he was only being his usual petty self.

“Okay, well, I’ll look it over and make any necessary changes,” she assured the lead singer in her most competent manner.  “The other issue we needed to discuss is little old me.  Since you won’t be eligible for prizes anyhow, turns out it doesn’t really matter if I sing the occasional song with you.  So if you still want me…”

“Of course,” the four men said, even Devon.  “We’re killer together,” he added, and she flushed.  A compliment from him was high praise indeed.

Oz leaned forward.  “Like Devon said, killer.  We need to work you into the act full-time.”

“Uh…”  She darted a look at the lead singer.  He appeared only moderately pissed off, which meant he didn’t hate the idea as much as she would have guessed.  “I dunno… between running this promotion and working for my mom, that might be a bit hard.  Besides, it would mean changing up your sound.  You guys don’t want to do that.”

“Last several weeks, all we’ve heard is ‘Is Buffy back yet?’” Sam cut in.  “Our YouTube hits are way higher for the clips you’re in, and when folks buy our CD’s, they always ask if ‘Hither’ is on it.  We’ve already changed our sound.  We need to go with the flow.  Give the fine folks who put food on our table what they want.”

Devon shot him an irritated look.  “If Buffy says she’s too busy…”

She bit her lip.  She really did want to sing, and unless she formed her own band or joined the church choir or something…  “Well… maybe we could add another song or two to the mix.  It would be kinda fun, don’t you think, Devon?”  She turned her megawatt smile on him, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yeah.  Sure.  Fine,” he grumbled.  “Just make sure you make it to all the practices.”  With a dirty look, he left.

“He’s friendly today,” Buffy said into the silence.

“Secretly, he’s cheering inside,” Oz said.  “Spend enough time around the man, you learn to distinguish his various flavors of irate.”  The others snickered.

“Yeah, Buffy,” The Troll added.  “Devon likes singing with you.  Couple months ago, he said something about having you harmonize with him on ‘Shadows’  It took him at least five seconds to decide it was a stupid idea and you’d ruin the song.”

Buffy laughed out loud.  “At this rate, he might let me have my own song sometime before the end of the century.”

“We’ll talk him into it if you want,” Oz assured her.  “I already have one written.”

“No, no.  Not any time soon, at least.  I’m good with harmonizing with the star for now.”  Chewing her thumb, she added, “You guys _sure_ you want me to sing-”

The remaining Dingoes cut her off with vociferous protests, leaving her mind spinning with their enthusiasm.

 

******** 

 

Spike bit back a sigh.  Earlier in the week, he thought they’d shared a moment of some kind, laughing over the increasingly ridiculous suggestions he’d made for fixing her press release.  A small part of him had begun to hope that maybe they could be friends after all, but the very next day, after her meeting with the local bands she wanted to host her contest, Buffy’s standoffish demeanor had returned.  Since then, her attitude towards him had hovered somewhere between benevolent tolerance and general disregard.  Fool that he was, he longed for more, though he told himself to be content with what he had.  At least she wasn’t running him out of town, angry mob with pitchforks backing her up.

Right now, though, her demeanor was pure ice queen. 

“Harmony, bugger off,” he told the ditzy blonde as she tried to cuddle up to him.  Short of getting a restraining order, he had no idea how to keep this one away.  She dogged him day and night, showing up to the club and persisting in acting as though she was his girlfriend no matter how many times he told her otherwise.  Once again, he reminded himself to look into the feasibility of getting a restraining order.

“But Spikey…” 

“Buffy, wait!” he said, ignoring Harmony and hurrying after Buffy when he realized she hadn’t given him all the pertinent information.  “This banner you want hung, how big’s it gonna be?”

“Does it matter?” 

Spike bit back the automatic retort her snappish tone evoked.  “It does.  It’ll affect where we place it and-”

“Fine,” she sighed.  “Let’s go look it up.”

He followed her down the hall to her office, and stood in the doorway while she sorted through a pile of papers.  A framed picture hung on the wall beside the desk, Joyce and her two daughters smiling at him.  He found his eyes drawn to the older woman, and something niggled at him.

“Buffy?  Why’d your mum and my uncle break up?”

Her head snapped up, green eyes sharp and reproachful.  “That’s not funny.”

He frowned.  “Not trying to be funny.”

“You _really_ don’t know?” 

“No, I sodding well _really_ don’t know.  Wouldn’t ask, otherwise, would I?”

She wrote something down on a sticky note and handed it to him, mouth thin and face pale.  Spike tucked the paper in his pocket without looking at it and waited, arms crossed.

Buffy spoke to her folded hands, voice low.  “It was because of that night.  When you – with the police – ”  She swallowed, then looked up at him, eyes full of pain rather than the anger he’d expected.  “She blamed Giles.  For what you did.  For bringing you into our lives and putting me in danger.”  Spike sagged against the door.  “Really, I think she blames herself but…”  Her fingers picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.  “It was bad.”

“Oh Christ…”  Spike collapsed into the spare chair.  “And the consequences keep on…”  He stared at the photo on the wall, his guilt and self-recrimination overwhelming.  “Rupert never said anything to me.”

“Yeah, well.  That’s Giles for you.”  She found another thread.  “Anyway, until she forgives herself, I wouldn’t expect any warm and fuzzies on the Mom front.  So, probably not ever.” 

Buffy went quiet, but he was too lost in his own tormented thoughts to break the silence.  “Speaking of my mom, I need to get to the gallery.”  She stood, clutching her purse, and moved to the door.  Spike nodded dumbly.  Her hand reached out and almost touched his shoulder, then pulled back.  “You can sit here if you need… just pull the door shut after.  And, um.  For what it’s worth Spike, I’ve already forgiven you.  You know that, right?”

He nodded again, hunched and lost inside himself. 

“Right.  Okay.”  She turned and left him alone with his guilt.

 

******** 

 

_Well, I guess his remorse didn’t last too long._

She came back that night to hang with the gang, and was treated to an eyeful of Faith curled up in Spike’s lap at the next table over.  Buffy grimaced, but ignored him as best she could.

When she found him in his uncle’s office the next morning, some leggy bimbo she’d never seen before cooing over him in a way that definitely pushed the limits of professional courtesy, her eye began to twitch.  She spun on her heel and stomped down the hall to her own office.  The slam of the office door shook it loose from its hinges.

Spike prodded it open some time later.  “Oi!  Now I have to fix this again!  What bug flew up your skirt?”

“What skirt _haven’t_ you been under?” she snapped back.

He frowned, some expression she couldn’t read passing behind his eyes.  After a beat, he replied, “Yours,” a trace of a smirk playing about his lips.

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. 

_Because I’m so very disgusted!  Obviously!_

“And you never will.  For one good reason – not so fond of womanizers, here.  You’ve made a lot of progress in becoming a decent human being, but your Casanova tendencies are sadly holding you back from joining the ranks of people I would _ever_ want to be around.”

Spike threw his hands up.  “I’ve done nothing wrong.  _Nothing_.  Haven’t had a single complaint yet from the ladies.  If you’re an uptight prig, that’s your problem.  Not my fault you’ve been hurt by Angel and your da-”  His mouth snapped shut.  “Your damned past with him.” 

He stalked closer and leaned across her desk, his face in hers, the muscle in his jaw twitching.  “Sometimes, yeah, it feels nice to be wanted.  To be in the company of a beautiful girl who’s friendly to me.  Seeing as friendliness is in bloody short supply elsewhere ‘round here.”  Buffy stared at him, entranced by the spark in his eyes.  God, she’d _missed_ that.  It made him seem so alive; it made her pulse race and her skin hum.  She wet her lips and told herself she needed to look up therapists the second he left her office. 

For long moments, their eyes remained locked.  Then Spike blinked rapidly and retreated to the far side of the room.

“Look,” he said, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.  “I like birds, and they seem to like me.  All right?”

“Oooo-kay…  Um.  Not sure what your hobbies have to do with anything.”  He shot her a quizzical look.  “Birding’s… you know… not something I ever would have pegged you as interested in, but whatever floats your boat…”

He erupted in laughter, great big gales of mirth that left him slapping his leg.  “Oh.  Oh.  You’re priceless, you are,” he sniggered.  “Birding…”  He burst into helpless giggles.

Buffy felt her cheeks flush.  She narrowed her eyes, attempting to bore a hole in his stupid head by gaze alone.  It didn’t work.  “Based on the ridiculous noises you’re making, I’m going to guess birds is some strange British slang.  Which, hey, if you don’t want to speak English, I don’t care.”

“Speak English?”  Spike raised one brow.  The definitely-not-sexy scarred one.  “Funny, being English and all, rather thought I was.  Not my fault you ignorant Amer-”

“Oh, just – go away!”  In what crazy universe had she missed this side of him again?  “You’re the most irritating, annoying…”  Buffy had risen to her feet and was pushing him out the door, the lopsided thing banging into his shoulder as he backed up, away from her jabbing fingers.

Spike continued to grin, slouched against the hallway wall while she tried to wrestle the door shut.  “That poor door never did anything to you, love.  No call to be so cruel to it.”

“Fine.”  If he wouldn’t leave, she would.  “I’m going to the gallery.  See you later.” 

Buffy stomped away, muttering about arrogant English jerks.

 

********

 

“Okay, so, if we have the wine and cheese tasting this day to accommodate Dankers, and move Mescard’s exhibit to the following week,” Buffy said to herself, scribbling penciled notes on her calendar.  The phone rang next to her ear, its shrill tone causing her arm to jerk, leaving a thick black line down the middle of the paper.

“Got it,” her mom called from the other end of the room.

Buffy sighed at the page in front of her, then flipped her pencil over to erase the mark she’d made while her mother’s voice murmured, “Hello?” in the background.  Joyce’s voice turned more strident, catching Buffy’s attention.  “No, you may not speak to her, I thought I made it quite clear-”

Joyce’s hand flew to her chest.  “What?  When?”  Buffy rose and hurried to her mother’s side.  Joyce held a finger up.  “Thank you for telling us.  We’ll meet you there.”  She hung up, but didn’t say a word, staring blankly ahead. 

“Mom.  Mom!  What is it?”

She shuddered before finding her voice.  “That was Spike.  Rupert is in the hospital.”

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to vote in the SunnyD awards before June 30th! There are many wonderful stories nominated. Somebody was kind enough to nominate one of my own, 'Night Games'; I'm not sure who, but if you're reading this, thank you! http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/nominees.html

 

“What do you – is Giles going to be okay?  What’s wrong with him?”

Joyce shook her head.  “I don’t know.  He collapsed at work.  Spike was calling from the hospital; he doesn’t know anything yet.  He wanted to let you know right away.”

Buffy sent him a brief, grateful thank you through the ether, then strode to her purse and rifled through until she found her cell.  “You drive, I’ll let everybody else know.”

They stopped en route to pick Dawn up from her friend’s house, and Buffy spent the rest of the trip trying to calm the worried teen, sitting in the back seat with her to hold her hand.

In the parking lot, Willow was just getting out of her car.  “Hey.  Heard anything else?”

“No.  Xander?”

“On his way.  He has to get somebody to cover his crew before he can leave.”

Joyce remained frozen next to her green Jeep, clutching the door handle.  Buffy touched her mother’s arm, realizing how awkward the other woman probably felt.  “You don’t have to…” 

She sniffed.  “Don’t be silly.  I was just…  I’m coming in.”  Joyce released the handle and wiped the corners of her eyes with a thumb.  “I’m coming,” she repeated.

Inside, Spike paced the waiting room, an unlit cigarette twirling between his fingertips.  Just as Buffy was about to call his name, he reared back and punched the wall.  “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his fist.  She was beside him in an instant, grabbing his left hand and giving it a cursory once-over before dropping it.

 “Buffy?”

“Do you know anything yet?”

“Buffy?” he repeated.

His hollow tone and red-rimmed eyes jolted her out of her own inner turmoil.  “Yeah, Spike.  I’m here.”  She took his hand again, more gently this time, thumb tracing over his palm. 

He blinked and swallowed, and his fingers curled around hers.  “Someone came out a moment ago, said it was likely a heart attack.  She said they were working on stabilizing him or… summat like that.  Dunno, wasn’t listening very well.” 

Spike’s lower lip trembled, and Buffy found herself wanting to reassure him.  Nobody should have to worry alone.  “Hey,” she said.  “Hey.  It’s going to be okay.  Giles is tough.  He’ll pull through.”  She squeezed his hand for emphasis.

He gave her a lopsided smile.  “Thanks, pet.”

The others had crowded around now, waiting to hear what Spike had to say.  She squeezed his hand once more and let go, then stepped away so Dawn and Willow could pepper him with questions.  Her mother stood to the side, listening to his every word.  Buffy wrapped her arm around Joyce’s waist and guided her to a seat.

Dawn came to sit by them.  “I hope Giles is going to be okay,”

“We all do, sweetie,” Joyce replied.

The teen shot her a dirty look.  “Could have fooled me.”

“Dawn.  Now is not the time,” Buffy said.

“When is the time?  After he’s dead?  ‘Cause, you know, I haven’t seen much of Giles.  Just because _she’s_ unreasonable and overbearing.”  She glared at her mother again.

Buffy chewed her knuckles.  She agreed with Dawn, but… one look at her mom’s guilty, devastated face was enough to silence her own thoughts on the matter.  “Dawnie…  Mom did what she thought was best.  You know that.  And she’s here now.”  _Please don’t chase her away_ , she added silently, willing her younger sister to understand.  If there was any chance for a reconciliation, no matter how awful the circumstances, Buffy didn’t want that chance screwed up. 

She handed the teen some dollar bills.  “Why don’t you go ask Spike if he wants a drink…  I mean a soda.  Ask him if he wants a soda from the machine.  And get yourself whatever you want.”  When Dawn had trotted off, Buffy said, “She didn’t mean that, you know.  She’s just worried.”

“No, she meant it.  And it’s not like you disagree with her.”

“Mom…”

“It’s okay, Buffy.  You don’t have to pretend.  Maybe… maybe I was a bit excessive.”  Joyce wrapped her arms around herself.  “I always imagined we’d work things out at some point, but as time went on…”

“You didn’t know where to start?”

Joyce sighed.  “Exactly.  And what would I say now?”

“How about, ‘Hope you get better quickly’.  Simple yet sincere.  Then you could follow it with, ‘Want to get coffee sometime?’”

“Oh, baby.  It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is!”

Her mother opened her arms, and Buffy slid into her embrace.  “I very much doubt Rupert wants to talk to _me_ anymore.  I’m sure he’s… angry that I cut him out of my life so abruptly.”

“Even if he is angry, he also misses you.  Lots and lots.  He’d be, like, one percent angry, and ninety-nine percent thrilled that you wanted to talk to him.”

Chuckling tiredly, Joyce said, “Let’s just hope he’s okay for now.  We’ll worry about the rest later.”

 

*******

 

Buffy sat in a chair next to the hospital bed, one of Giles’ hands clasped tight between hers.  Already he looked so much better than he had yesterday evening, when the doctors had allowed both her and Spike no more than a brief visit with him, one after the other.

She brought his hand to her lips, then kissed the back of it and held it against her cheek, letting the tears fall now that she knew he was going to be okay.  Buffy couldn’t imagine her life without this man in it.  She didn’t _want_ to imagine her life without him in it.

After some time, his fingers twitched, and he let out a small moan.  Buffy sat upright, watching him closely.  “Hey there,” she said when his eyelids fluttered open.

“Buffy.”  His voice was hoarse, and he smacked his lips, tongue moving about inside his mouth.

She reached for the cup of water and brought the straw to his lips.  “Here.”

Giles took several small sips, pausing between each one.  “Thank you.”

“No problemo.  How you feeling?”

“As well as is to be expected, I suppose.”  He fell silent, eyelids drooping shut in his washed-out face, and Buffy thought maybe he was going back to sleep.  Instead, he rasped, “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Ask away.”

“I was hoping you would help my nephew to run the club while I’m in here.  He’s capable, but he hasn’t much experience.”

Buffy frowned.  “Okay, how angry am I that you even thought you had to ask?”

“One wouldn’t want to presume…”

“If you weren’t all Mister Sick Guy, I would so be yelling at you right now.  As it is, I’ll settle for a stern look.”  He opened one eye, and she scowled at him to prove her point.  “Seriously, Giles, the only thing I want you to worry about is getting back to full health.  Understood?”

He smiled weakly.  “Yes, Miss Summers.”

 

*******

 

Buffy poked her head into Giles’ office later that afternoon, forced smile fading when she saw Spike behind the desk, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.  She made to retreat, but he looked up and rubbed away the tears with the heels of his hands.  “Sorry,” he hiccoughed.  “Just…”

“Yeah.  I know,” she said.  “But he’s gonna be okay.”

He leaned his head back, rolling it about on his shoulders as he let out a ragged breath.  “Christ.  Hope so.  Don’t know what I’d do if…  Be all alone then.  How sad is that?” 

She shut the door behind her and took the seat across the desk from Spike.  “You don’t have any other family?”

“Not as such.  My da died when I was little, and Mum’s gone too, now.  No other uncles or aunts.  Think there might be some distant cousins, maybe.”

“Wow.  I can’t imagine.  I mean, we don’t really talk to anybody on Dad’s side of the family, but besides Mom and Dawn, I’ve got a couple of aunts and some cousins.  We’re not super close or anything, but they’re there.”  She paused to envision being the last of your family, and her heart went out to the man across from her.  Sure, he wasn’t her favorite person, but…  “So, were you and Giles close then?  When you were growing up?”

“He was like my da.  Know him better than my own father, since I was just a little blighter when he died,” Spike said.  “My mum took it hard, losing my da, so Uncle Rupert came to live with us for awhile.  Even after he moved out, he was always coming by, being a good male role model for me and all that.”

Buffy smiled.  “That’s what he did for me too.  The good male role model part,” she hurried to explain.  “Not the living with us part.”

“Get the feeling he wouldn’t have much minded living with your mum.”

She snickered.  “Probably not.  But teenager me?  Would have seriously minded.  Big case of the wiggins.  I did everything in my power to keep those two apart.  Now I wish I would have encouraged them to get together sooner.”

Spike grabbed a tissue from a box on the corner of the desk and blew his nose.  “You’re not the only one with regrets there, kitten.”

An uneasy silence fell, Buffy letting his use of a pet name slide.  If ever Spike deserved to be cut a break, now was probably the time.  He picked up a stack of papers, set them down to pick up a different stack, then flipped through an appointment book.  “Hope I’m up for this,” he said as he dropped the book.  “Not like I have much choice.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ve been officially appointed your assistant by the boss-man.  I’ve cleared it with my mom and everything.  Buffy is here to service all your needs.”

He stared at her, then a slow smile spread across his face, tongue curling behind his teeth.  “Is that so now?”

Buffy’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said, and her cheeks flamed.  She buried her face in her hands.  “Don’t suppose you’d let me rephrase that?”

“Not a bleeding chance in hell, pet.”

 

*******

 

 Buffy looked at the list of tasks they’d drawn up.  Only a few remained.  “Accounting.  Ugh.  That one is so yours.  Me and math?  Not mixy.”

“Not really my specialty either, but I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it.  Anya’s offered to do that part.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’ll be okay to let it slide for a few days – wait.”  Buffy wriggled a finger in her ear.  “I must have heard you wrong.  What did you say?” 

“Anya’s offered to do the accounting.  Since she’s working on her CPA certification.”

Realizing her mouth was hanging open, she shut it with a click.  “Oh.  Well, that’s good.  I didn’t expect that, but…  Good.”

Spike laughed.  “Didn’t expect it either.  Though her offer was, and I quote, ‘Not due to any fondness for you, but because I respect Giles and don’t want his money to suffer or his profits decrease in his absence’.”

“And suddenly the world makes sense again.”

“Yeah?  Well this will knock you right back on your cute little tush.  The boy came with her.  Offered to take care of any maintenance issues.”

Her jaw dropped again.  “Xander?  _Xander_ talked to you?” 

Xander _never_ spoke to Spike.  He wouldn’t even return the man’s casual greetings when they bumped into each other, despite the apology Spike had offered upon his return.  Not that Buffy blamed her friend.  Giles getting ill was even more end-of-the-world than she’d thought if it could make Xander acknowledge Spike’s existence.

“No more than a dozen words.  If I remember right, his big rousing speech went something like this:  ‘Like she said.  I’ll do the maintenance.  Make me a list.’  Then he walked off.”

“Wow.  Giles being sick has got everybody talking to one another again.  Or… almost.”

Spike tipped his head.  “You mean your mum?  And Rupert?”

“Yup.”  Buffy picked at her nail polish.  “She says she doesn’t want to overwhelm him with visitors.  Which is a valid excuse, but…  I think she’s too nervous.  She’s worried he’s mad at her, and she has this crazy idea he’d reject her if she tried.”

He mimicked her actions, thumb scratching at his own black nail polish.  “Fear of rejection… s’a pretty powerful fear, all told, love.”

She glanced at his face, but he was intent on his fingernails, head bent away from her, giving her no clues to his thoughts.  Considering the way women threw themselves at him, never mind the way he’d only laughed whenever she’d repulsed his advances in the past, Buffy was confused. 

What would _Spike_ know about the fear of rejection?

 

*******

 

“Thank you, my dear.  Thank – _Buffy_.  Thank you, I’m quite all right now.” 

Buffy fussed with the blanket’s corner a moment longer before sitting down, then popped back up to adjust the pillow behind Giles’ back when he reached for it.  “Do you want some tea?  I could make you some tea.  I’ll be right back…”

Giles’ arm shot out and caught hers, his speed belying his invalid status.  “Do sit down, Buffy, before you give me another attack with all your nervous fluttering.  I assure you, I am quite all right.”

She sat, abashed.  “I just… you know.  Worry about you.  Here, all by yourself.”

“Oi!”

“Sorry!”  She sent Spike a semi-apologetic glance.  “The radioactive hair and black leather doesn’t exactly scream competent nursemaid.  My brain is happier if I completely erase you from the picture.  Then I don’t have to worry you’re giving him whiskey to wash down his pills and feeding him a steady diet of junk food.”

Spike’s lower lip crept out.  “’M competent.  Know perfectly well how to care for a sick person.”

“You’re doing a more than adequate job,” Giles told him.  “I couldn’t ask for better care.”  Spike ducked his head.  “Now, are you two sure this won’t be a problem?”

“Not a problem at all.  Between the bunch of us, we’ve kept everything running smoothly all week long.  I can’t see anybody taking issue with continuing to help out,” Buffy said.  Giles had asked them privately, earlier in the day, if they would mind continuing to run the club for another several weeks.  His doctor had recommended he take an extended vacation, and both Buffy and Spike had immediately seconded the idea.  Now they were waiting for the others to arrive, in order to discuss it with them.

A knock sounded at the door, and one by one, Faith, Dawn, Xander and Anya, then Willow and Oz trickled in, bearing various containers of food.  When they’d eaten and settled into quiet groups spread about the living room, Giles cleared his throat.  “I’d like to thank you all for doing such a wonderful job this past week.  It’s been quite… humbling… to have to take a back seat in my own business, but also very gratifying to know that same business is in competent hands.”

Xander chuckled.  “And yet, everything we do together is what you do all by yourself, day after day.  It takes all of us to add up to one big Giles brain.  No wonder you’re running on empty, G-man.”

“Nonsense, any one of you could do it alone with the proper training.  But again, I’m quite thankful for your help.  And speaking of running on empty…  It has been several years since I’ve had a proper holiday.  Close to ten, in fact, and my physician feels it would be beneficial for me to take a sabbatical for the next several weeks.  If you are amenable, I would like to continue this arrangement for at least another month, possibly two.”

There wasn’t a single word of disagreement.  Buffy beamed at her friends and sister.  She’d known Giles could count on them, but it warmed her heart all the same.

Giles must have felt the same way.  His glasses came off, and he polished them furiously, blinking and clearing his throat.  “That’s… ah… yes.  Thank you.  All of you.”  He cleared his throat again.  “I would like to relocate to Bath, for at least part of the time.  A former colleague has offered me use of his summer cottage, and it seems wise to remove myself from the temptation of coming in to work.  I would be, essentially, unavailable.  Are you all quite sure?”

“I’ve already contacted my department, and I can earn credit for doing your books,” Anya said.  “So, shoo!  Go recover!  It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.  Oh!  Except, please don’t think that I am only doing this for credit.  I would do it anyways.  With Buffy’s big project, you have far more bookkeeping than usual to deal with – far more expenses, but also far more income.  It looks like the Battle of the Bands will be quite profitable for you.”

“Ahem.  Thank you, Anya.” 

She beamed at him.

“Oz and I are totally on top of upcoming bookings, at least until Buffy’s contest starts,” Willow said.

 “I’ve got the staff scheduling covered,” Faith added.

Xander waved his hand.  “And I’m on maintenance.”  

Spike heaved a melodramatic sigh.  “Barely a thing for me to do with this lot around.  Feel like a right useless wanker.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buffy said.  “You do many important things.  Like chat up the female customers to ‘make sure they’re satisfied’.”  She added finger quotes and an eye roll to her statement.

Spike grinned and leaned in so only she could hear.  “A lady’s satisfaction _is_ my number one priority, pet.”  Buffy glared at him and turned away, resolutely ignoring all the delicious pictures his words evoked.  She wondered instead when she would learn to keep her big mouth shut around him.  Working so closely with Spike this past week hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected, but every now and then, his more obnoxious side would come out to play, leaving her stammering and blushing and wishing she’d never promised Giles to help him out.

“ _Anyhow_ ,” she said to Giles.  “We’ve got our Battle of the Bands starting in five more weeks.  Everything is on track and ready to go, and once we start, that’s all my baby.  There won’t be much for you to do, so it’s a perfect time for you to simpatico.”

Giles’ brows drew together.  “Simpatico?”

“Like your doctor said.  Take a simpatico.”

Spike groaned.  “Sabbatical, love.  A holiday.  A sabbatical.”

“That’s what I said.”

 

*******

 

Spike watched her lower lip creep out, and bit his own to keep from grinning like a love-struck fool.  Buffy was a beautiful woman, full of grace and self-confidence, but at moments such as this she reminded him of the sweet, shy but feisty young girl he’d first met, three years ago.  The one who had irrevocably captured his heart and his imagination.  He loved to rile her up, to break through her cool and composed bearing and find the blushing schoolgirl inside, but it was even more satisfying when she did it to herself.

Still watching Buffy from the corner of his eye, Spike turned to her sister.  “We forgot the most important member of the crew.  Dawn here is our gopher girl extraordinaire.  If we need it, she finds it.”

It was Dawn’s turn to blush, the rarely shy teen hiding behind the curtain of her long, dark hair.  Spike grinned, pleased to have the Little Bit around.  Her mum had loosened up in the last week and allowed Dawn to help out at the club, and he had honestly enjoyed her company.  She treated him like a big brother, and Spike found pleasure in their simple camaraderie, something that had been lacking in his life for a long time now.  Sad though it was that it had taken a teen girl years younger than him to find friendship with, he wasn’t going to knock it.  While he had plenty of willing female companionship, Spike wouldn’t go so far as to call any of them friends.  Not really.  He chucked the younger girl on the shoulder and tipped her wink.

“Don’t forget she’s taken over planning the big show I was setting up for Mom,” Buffy added.

“Our little Dawnster’s all grown up!” Xander said, and Dawn blushed harder.

Buffy reached out to ruffle her hair.  “Headed off to college in the fall and everything.”

“Yes, she has become quite the remarkable young woman.”  Giles smiled.  “She takes after her sister in that.”

Now the pair of them were as red as tomatoes, and Spike couldn’t hide his smile.  He was in good company though, the others grinning as well at the Summers sisters’ discomfort.

Giles cleared his throat and spoke once more.  “Very good.  It sounds as though everything is sorted.”  He paused, frowning.  “Ah, the liquor.  We haven’t discussed the liquor.  Will you be ordering it, William?”

Spike fought the urge to panic.  He cast about the room the same as the others, brow furrowed in confusion:  _Who the hell is William?_  

Buffy was the first to speak. 

“William?” she asked, her eyes sliding to Spike.

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

 

To Rupert’s credit, he didn’t even glance at Spike.  “Did I say William?”  He shook his head: a doddering, confused invalid.  “One of the side effects of this heart attack, I’m afraid.  I’ve been mixing names up all week.  Just yesterday, I asked Spike how Betty was getting on.  It took him a good five minutes to realize I meant Buffy.” 

Buffy’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t seem to question her father figure’s explanation, and Spike breathed an internal sigh of relief at his uncle’s quick thinking.  He’d have to remember to be appropriately grateful later.  “It was quite the comedy of errors,” he agreed with a laugh.

“Indeed.  I meant Willow, not William.  Willow, will you be ordering the liquor?  Or are you doing that, Bet- Buffy?”

“Ooooh, what did you call me?” Anya cut in.  “Do you have a mixed-up name for me?”

Spike had been watching Giles closely, so he was probably the only one to see the other man’s eyes widen in dismay.  “I do believe I called you Anyanka at some point,” he said after only a second’s hesitation.  “Although I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

“Anyanka.  I like it.”  She clapped her hands.  “What about Xander?”

“Oh, well, he is… Santa… obviously.  With the, er… jolliness.”

“And the fondness for milk and cookies,” Dawn said.  “How about Spike?  How’d you mess his name up?”

Giles regarded Spike, one eyebrow raised.  “His name is bloody ridiculous enough as it is, don’t you think?” 

“Oi!”  He laughed along with the others, although his laughter was more of relief than anything else.  As the conversation derailed into frivolity, no one thought to question why Giles had asked if Willow would order the liquor.  It was a strange request, considering Spike was the assistant manager, but they all seemed distracted now.  Even better, Buffy had stopped shooting him inquisitive looks. 

Which was just the way Spike preferred it.

Less comfortable was his uncle’s admonition later that evening to come clean with Buffy, but he shook it off.  Maybe he and Buffy would be working more closely this summer than he’d expected, but they weren’t friends, and Spike didn’t see that changing anytime soon.  There was no reason for her to know he was William, no reason for him to ruin that memory for her.

 

 *******

 

“So it was fun?” Willow asked.

“It was.  It was a nice time.  A lunch picnic is kinda romantic, don’t you think?” Buffy said.  “Riley’s a nice guy.  It was very sweet of him to find a way to work around my crazy schedule.”

Willow glanced up, and grimaced.  “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?  Why uh-oh?  Ohhh…”  Buffy spied Harmony headed straight for their table.  No way she could escape.  She plastered on a fake smile.

“Buffy?  Have you seen my boyfriend?”

Her brow furrowed.  Harmony had a boyfriend now?  “Who’s that?”

The blonde tossed her head.  “Spikey.  Where’s Spikey?”

Buffy jerked backwards.  Spike was actually dating this bimbo?  Really?  She was too surprised by how angry she was at the notion to respond.  Of course he could date whomever he wanted, but… Harmony?  Did he lose a bet or something?  Imagining Spike holding hands with this ditz, cuddled up with her and treating her like she was something special, made Buffy want to throw up.  She took a sip of her drink to cover her violent reaction.

“I think he’s up in the balcony,” Willow said.  “I saw him heading up there earlier with, er… a friend.”

Harmony laughed shrilly.  “Oh, Spike and his friends.  He’s so friendly, isn’t he?  It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type.”

Buffy’s eyes were drawn upwards, to where Spike was leaning his hip against the Bronze’s balcony railing, flashing that too-charming smile at the girl he was talking to.  A girl Buffy had never seen before.  He inclined his head to whisper something in her ear, and the girl twirled her hair around her finger, shoulders shaking as she giggled.  Friendly, indeed.  Watching the pair, Buffy felt her pity shift from Spike to Harmony for having a boyfriend like _that_.  A boyfriend who was in no way faithful to her, no matter how the poor woman tried to spin it.  To think she’d once been that naïve girl, with Angel…

As if he realized her eyes were upon him, Spike dropped his gaze to the floor below, eyes immediately finding and locking with hers.  Even from this distance, she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  His body turned to face her, and both his hands gripped the railing as he leaned over, gravitating closer.  Despite the uncharitable thoughts she’d just had, Buffy found she couldn’t look away from him.  Nor could she slow the sudden racing of her pulse.  The sounds of the club fell away, leaving only the thudding of heart in her ears and the two of them, frozen in this moment.

The look Spike gave her wasn’t his usual smirk, but something more honest and intimate.  Buffy felt as though he was showing her the man behind the mask for once, his true self plain to see.  The hell of it was that she wanted that man.  No worrying about whether or not he could be faithful, or even if he was the right one for her.  The way he looked at her – nobody had ever looked at her that way before.  Nobody had ever made her feel as desirable, or crazy as it sounded, cherished. 

She wanted him back, plain and simple.

Harmony stepped into the picture.  She wrapped her arm around Spike’s waist, which immediately broke the spell.  Buffy shook her head to clear it.  What the hell was wrong with her, having a moment with _Spike_?  Another glance showed the unknown girl looking uncertainly between Harmony and Spike as he tried wriggle out of Harmony’s grasp, flirty smile back in place.  She shoved the longing feelings his glance had aroused far, far down, away from the light of day.  Spike was the wrong sort of man to feel all lusty over, never mind a desire for anything deeper.

“So, Riley?” Willow said, and Buffy realized the redhead had been trying to get her attention for several seconds now.

“Riley, yeah.  He’s great!”

Willow leaned in closer.  “And are there sparks?  Because you don’t seem very enthused about him, really.” 

“There are sparks.  Lots and lots of sparks!”  Lots of teeny-tiny, barely there sparks.  Mostly, Riley felt comfortable and safe.  Safe was a good thing, Buffy figured.  The kind of men who made her heart pitter-patter and her palms sweat – they were not the kind of men a girl like her should be attracted to.

“I dunno, Buff.  He’s not really your type, is he?  Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice and all, but…”

“Not my type?  I have a type now?”

“Well… he’s not the type who turns you into gushy-tingly-Buffy, that’s for sure.”

Buffy snorted, eyes darting towards the balcony once more before settling on her friend’s face.  “You’re right, I have a type – but my type of man?  Is not the monogamous type, apparently.  I don’t think I like my type.”  She swirled her finger in the condensation left on the table by her glass.  “Riley may not make my pulse race and my mouth go dry every time I’m near him, but neither is he going to break my heart.  He’s solid.  A good, solid man.  Just the kind I need in my life.  No more Angels and Parkers for this girl.” 

_Or Spikes_.

“Heh.  Yeah.  I can see that.  But you do like him, right?”

She thought of their lunchtime picnic.  “I do, Will.  I really do.”

 

 *******

 

Buffy swung her shopping bags as she strolled towards her mom’s gallery, humming under her breath.  She was supposed to be heading back to the Bronze, but she’d bought the cutest top for Dawn, and she couldn’t wait to show it to her.

Her good mood evaporated when the door to the gallery opened and Spike stepped outside, a smug grin upon his face – until he saw her.  Then his eyes widened, and he reached out for the door handle, attempting to duck back inside.

“You do realize I already see you, right?  And why do I see you?  Here, near my family?”

Spike mumbled something, and Buffy stepped closer to poke him in the chest.  “What are you doing here, Spike?”

“Just visiting, all right?  Nothing wrong with popping by to see how your mum is.”

“First, that doesn’t explain the furtive, and second, since when does my mother allow you to pop by?”

He fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes, then shook one out and lit it.  Spike blew the smoke away from her, out of the corner of his mouth.  “Your mum’s loosened up on a lot of things in the last few days, Buffy.  She and I have made our peace.  Not so happy it took Rupert getting ill for it to happen, but…”

Well, that made sense.  “Oh.  Yeah.  There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Being confronted with mortality does it for people.  Makes ‘em rethink a lot of things.”

“Very true.”  She pulled Spike away from the gallery.  “You know what sucks?  She still won’t talk to Giles.  I mean, I got her to go with me once, and say hi, but… I was kinda hoping they’d start talking again.  On their own.”

Spike crushed the smoke under his heel and cleared his throat.  “That’s, uh… that’s why I’m here, actually.  I’ve been trying to talk her into stopping by before Rupert heads off across the pond.”

Buffy stared at him.  “Oh no.  No no no.  The last thing we need is _you_ playing matchmaker.”

“What, you can, but I can’t?  Why’s that then?”

“Hello?  What do _you_ know about having a relationship?  You’re the last person who should be giving any kind of advice.  Ever.”

“Because your track record is so stellar.”

She winced.  “You’re an asshole.  Why do you always have to rub my Angel failure in my face?  Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of it?”

“Oh yes.  It’s all about you.  In case you didn’t notice, princess, _you_ were the one who started with the insults.  I’m not perfect, but I’m not the bad man you’re so determined I am.  If you’d get off your high horse for just a minute, maybe you’d see that.”

Eyeing him, Buffy came to a sudden realization.  _She’d hurt his feelings._   Huh.  Who knew Spike had feelings?  Well, okay, she’d seen him cry over his uncle… and she’d seen him cry last year, at the police station.  And she’d seen him nervous around her, and… Fine.  Spike had feelings.  Lots and lots of feelings.  Now _she_ was left with the sense that she’d done something wrong, and she didn’t much like it.

“You know what, I so don’t have time for your crap,” she snapped to cover the uneasiness inside.  “It’s only one month until the Battle of the Bands starts, and I have enough stress as it is without worrying about you trying to guilt my mom into talking to your uncle.  Just stay out of it.”  She spun on her heel and hurried away, not daring to look at his face.

 

 *******

 

Buffy avoided Spike at work for the next several days, speaking to him only when she couldn’t wiggle out of it.  Every time she looked at him, shame would flood through her, leaving her antsy and uncomfortable.  It didn’t help that Spike had cooled towards her as well.  He seemed happy to maintain a professional distance between them.  A huge, gaping professional _chasm_ of a distance.

It was simpler this way, she told herself.  Easier to ignore the unhealthy attraction she felt for the man, easier to keep from becoming too friendly with him.  It wasn’t as if she _liked_ Spike, anyhow.  Just because he made her pulse race and her mouth go dry, it didn’t mean anything more than her body – her very neglected body – was reacting to the maleness and sensuality he exuded.  And if he made her feel all tingly and giddy when he was around – the way William had, once upon a time – well, she attributed that to his passing resemblance to the man, nothing more.

So, yup.  Easier all around if she and Spike ignored each other.

The guilt nagged at her, though, and wouldn’t ease up – so much so that she was considering apologizing to him.  Spike had a point.  He wasn’t so bad a person that he deserved her constant derision.  And if he was the one who could convince her mom to let go of her fear and talk to Giles – really talk to Giles – then she was all for his intervention.

Of course, all of Buffy’s newfound equanimity towards Spike flew right out the metaphorical window the moment she saw him through a real one, laughing and flirting. 

With her _mother_. 

She was walking past the little French restaurant on Main Street, on her way to the Espresso Pump for a lunch coffee, when she glanced inside and saw them.  Pulling back so she could observe unnoticed, Buffy watched, incredulous, as Spike reached across the table with his fork to steal a bite of her mother’s cake.  She could hear him through the open window, moaning in a way that ought to be outlawed, but even worse was her mother’s reaction.  She giggled.  _Giggled_.  Like a freaking lovesick teenager.

What the hell was going on?  Spike couldn’t be chasing after her mother, could he?

Buffy continued to spy upon them while they finished their desert.  She scowled when Spike paid, then ducked around the corner as they exited together.  Ignoring the thought that she was behaving like a jealous girlfriend, Buffy trailed them back to the gallery, dodging into doorways and behind lampposts anytime it looked as if they might turn around, her incredulity rising with every passing minute.  Despite a lack of inappropriate behavior, there was definite flirting going on. 

It was squicky.  It was heave-worthy.  It was just plain _wrong_.

When Spike opened the door to the gallery for her mother and executed a tiny bow as he waved her inside, Joyce flashed him a coy smile, and Buffy about lost it.  What was it about this man that made every woman within a hundred yard radius want to drop their panties for him?  She abruptly realized she was thinking of her _mother_ like that, and had to scrub the image from her brain.  Bursting into the gallery after them, Buffy was sure she was caught in an alternate universe as she found the two laughing together, Spike’s hand resting atop her mother’s. 

“Oh my god!”  Twin pairs of surprised eyes swiveled towards her.  “Bad enough you have all your bimbos at the Bronze, now you have to run after the woman your uncle loves too?  Have you _no_ shame?”

“Buffy!” Joyce said.  “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me?  _He’s_ what’s wrong with me!”

“We’re friends, love,” Spike said.  “We were friendly before, you know.  Before I – before I bollixed everything up, last year.”

She glared at him.  “I’ve seen your style of friendly, Spike.  I see it every night.  You keep your friendly away from my mom.”

He winced and turned to Joyce.  “Think I’ll be on my way.  Thank you for having lunch with me, it was lovely.”

“You don’t need to run off just because my daughter has suddenly lost her senses.”

“I’ve lost my senses?  _I’ve_ lost my senses?  You’re the one who couldn’t stand the man less than a month ago, and now you’re best friends with him?”  Buffy heard the shop door open and close behind her, signifying Spike’s exit, but she kept on with her tirade.  “Just because the man flashes his sexy smile at you, all is forgiven?  Just like that?  And why him and not Giles, when Giles is the one who doesn’t even need forgiveness?”

“Buffy, calm down.  You’re embarrassing yourself.”  Joyce took her hand.  “I’m sorry if we surprised you, but you’re being ridiculous, dear.”

Her lower lip crept out.  “I don’t understand.  And no I’m not.” 

_Way to not sound like a recalcitrant two year old, Buffy._

“There’s nothing for you to understand.  Spike has apologized and explained, more than once.  After carefully considering it, I’ve accepted his apology, the same as I know you have.  He asked if I wanted to go out to lunch today, and I agreed.  Beyond that, there is nothing for you to understand, young lady.”

“But… but…”

Joyce lowered her voice.  “He’s lonely, sweetheart.  He has precious few friends here.  His uncle is ill.  And he has no other family.  Spike is charming, no doubt about it, but he views me as a maternal figure, nothing more.”  She drew Buffy to the window, where they could see the man in question, smoking and kicking at the ground.  “He’s hurting, and he has nobody else to turn to.  I know this seems abrupt to you, considering my previous attitude, but trust me, it’s been weeks in the making.”

Buffy frowned, the guilt crashing back in.  Why did she always assume the worst when it came to Spike?

“Why don’t you go on out and apologize?  Or at least talk to him?”

She shook her head.  “I think the last thing Spike wants is for me to talk to him.”

“You’d be surprised,” Joyce replied.  “I’ll make you a deal.  I’ll call Rupert if you go apologize to Spike.  Show him some compassion.”

Buffy really didn’t want to apologize to Spike, and she was way too confused to be compassionate.  But if it meant her mom would call Giles…   “You promise?”

“Right now.”

Straightening her spine and holding her head high, Buffy marched out the door and approached Spike before she could chicken out.  “I’m sorry for automatically assuming you were up to no good.”

His head tilted as he regarded her, eyes crinkling in surprise, and then they shuttered, and his face became a blank wall.  He shrugged.  “No worries, love.”

Spike’s casual dismissal of her apology didn’t sit well with her.  “Don’t call me – argh!  Why is this so hard?  I’m sorry, okay.  I mean it.  I overreacted.”

One corner of his mouth turned up.  “To be fair, I _was_ flashing my sexy smile at your mum.”

Buffy’s eyes widened.  “You heard that?”

“Nice to know you think my smile is sexy.”

“Shut up!” she said, flushing.  “Just don’t say anything else right now.”  Buffy peered in the gallery window, then whooped and punched Spike in the arm.  “Look at that!  She’s on the phone!”

“Yeah?  To who now?”

“Giles.  I hope.”  Excited, she grabbed his hand without thinking.  “I can’t believe she’s calling him.  What did you say to her?”

His tongue curled behind his teeth.  “You mean, in between trying to seduce your mum?”

She growled in frustration and flung his hand away.  “Can you _not_ be you for one minute?  And you wonder why I always expect the worst of you.”  Wrinkling her nose, she added, “You make it really hard to apologize, you know that?”

“S’a talent.  Look, you know you don’t have to worry about your mum, right?  She can take care of herself just fine.”

“Normally I’d say yes.  But this is _you_ we’re talking about.”

Spike grinned.  “Suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.  And no need to apologize.  Know you love your mum, want to protect her.”  He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and Buffy’s breath caught in her throat at the closeness and familiarity of the action.  “You’re a lot like her.  Protective.”

“Since you’re talking about my mom, I’ll definitely take any comparison as a compliment.”  She swallowed to clear the slight tremor in her voice.

“Oh, it’s a compliment all right.  You’re a hell of a woman.  Both of you.  Hell, all of you Summers women.  Fiercest, most loyal lot I’ve ever met.  Does a bloke proud to have any one of you on his side.”

“Sure looks like you’ve got my mom on your side.”

Spike gave her a crooked smile.  “Does at that.  Any chance of getting another Summers woman in my corner, you think?”

“Well…”  Buffy grinned at him.  “I’m pretty sure Dawn’s an easy sell, so yup, I think you can count on it.”  She bumped her shoulder against his as he laughed, pleased to be back on friendly terms with him, despite her earlier rationalizations against it.  “You heading back to work?”

“Why’s that?  Need a big, strong man to walk you there?”

“Oooh, is there one nearby?”  She peered around, and snickered at Spike’s sputtering noises.

“Why, you little…”

Previous animosity forgotten, and heart lighter than it had been in days, Buffy ran off down the street, laughing as Spike mock-chased her the entire way back to the Bronze.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

 

“Shirker,” Oz said.  Buffy glanced over at him, and was startled to see him staring back at her. 

The gang had gathered around one of the back tables in the Bronze, to catch up with each other after a busy week.  At the moment, the topic of discussion centered on the Dingoes’ gig of the night before.

“There were a lot of disappointed fans last night,” he added.

Buffy nodded, her expression guilty.  She’d put off performing with them due to all her added responsibilities with the Bronze.  “I know.  Next time, I promise,” she apologized.  “I think I could use the stress relief, anyhow.  I need something _fun_ to do.  All work and no play makes for a very cranky Buffy.”

Anya turned away from her boyfriend to regard Buffy.  “Orgasms are very good for stress relief.  But I suppose you and Riley aren’t there yet.  That’s too bad.  Do you have a vibrator?” she asked, just as Spike passed by their table.

Buffy hid behind her hands, ignoring Spike and his questioning eyebrow.

“Ahn, honey, that’s not…”

“Buffy is a modern woman, Xander.  There’s nothing shameful about vibrators.  After all, even with our frequent and vigorous sexytimes, I still find Larry – that’s what I’ve named him – to be quite helpful in taking the edge off when you – mmmphhh.”

Peeking between her fingers, she saw Xander had pulled Anya into a kiss.  It was his favorite method for halting some of her more outrageous statements.  Soon, the two were lost in each other, while Willow and Oz looked on in amusement.  Buffy dared to drop her hands, and just as she did, Spike pulled out the empty seat beside her.  The grate of the chair legs on the floor was loud in her ears, echoing over the band up on stage.

“Go away,” she hissed.

“What?  Nothing to be ashamed of, just like the bird said.  So…”  He bent closer.  “What do you call yours?  Bob?  Steve?”  His tongue poked out, and he laid a hand upon her bare knee, the pressure of his warm fingers increasing as he leaned into her to whisper in her ear.  “Spike?”

She dislodged his hand with a roll of her eyes.  “As if.  I haven’t named it anything.  Uh, I mean…” 

“Oh, so you do have one.  Care to describe it for me?” 

Buffy considered hiding behind her hands again.  “I am so not discussing this with you, you pig.  Get lost.”

Spike trailed a finger up her outer thigh, under the table, out of sight of the others.  “If it’s stress relief you’re after…”

“I’ll be sure and stay far away from you.”  She dug her nails into his wrist, halting his roving finger before her leg could give in to the tremors she’d repressed by sheer willpower alone.  “Back off, Spike.  You and me?  This is not okay, between us.  Don’t mistake any recent civility on my part as me being okay with your style of friendship.  I’m not one of your bimbos.”

His expression changed in an instant, becoming contrite.  “No, you’re definitely not that.  Was only messing around, yeah?  You forgive me?”  He pulled the most pathetic puppy dog face she’d ever seen, full lower lip creeping out in a delicious pout, and Buffy’s heart melted against her better judgment.  God, he was a menace.  With a start, she realized she still had a hold of his hand, but now her fingers were entwined with his rather than gripping his wrist.

“I might forgive you,” she said.  “As long as you remember your place in the future.”

She caught the naughty gleam in his eye, but he restrained himself to no more than a waggle of his eyebrows.  Somehow, their bodies had turned so their backs were to the table, and the pair of them faced the dance floor, knees brushing together.  Buffy couldn’t find it in herself to care that Spike was now tracing his thumb over hers, couldn’t remember why it was imperative that she push him away.  It had to be Anya’s talk of orgasms and stress relief.  She let herself lean into his shoulder and breathed in his scent, the feel of her hand in his larger one something safe and familiar and _right_.

A flash of blonde out on the dance floor caught her eye, and she straightened.  Spike might not remember, but she did.  He had a girlfriend.  Maybe.  Or maybe lots of girlfriends.  Either way, he wasn’t somebody she should be holding hands with and daydreaming about.  Pulling away, Buffy said, “Did you talk to Giles today?”

Spike nodded, and as the conversation moved on to safer topics, she breathed a sigh of relief.  She seriously needed to watch herself around this man.

And to _not_ go home and name her vibrator ‘Spike’.

 

*******

 

The next afternoon, Oz poked his head into her office, purple hair preceding him.  “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.  Uh-oh.  You have uh-oh face.  What’s up?”

“Devon’s in the hospital.”

Buffy hurried to his side.  “What?  Why?”

“Car wreck.  Last night.  He’s going to be okay… eventually.  They had to transfer him to L.A. General, it was so bad.”

“Oh, shit.  Shit, shit.  He’s okay though?”

“Yeah.”

Her mind whirled.  “What can we do?  What does he need?”

“His folks are flying out; they’re going to be staying at my place.  You know what this means, though?”

“What?”

“No Dingoes.  You’re going to have to divvy up our nights during the Battle of the Bands with the others.”

Buffy sat on the edge of her desk, thinking hard.  “Don’t even worry about it, I’ll sort it out.  Unless…” she said slowly.

“Unless?”

“Well, it’s kind of a crazy idea…  Giles told me once Spike sings.  And plays guitar.  I have no idea what kind of music he likes, of if he’s even any good, but…  Maybe?  Just as a stand-in, until Devon’s better?”

Oz blinked at her.  “You’ve never heard Spike Pratt sing?”

“No?  Should I have?”  Oz didn’t reply, and she frowned.  “Have you?”

“Heard him and Mr. Giles messing around in the back office once or twice,” he said with a shrug.  “It’s an interesting idea.  I’ll ask the guys what they think.  Thanks.”  Oz turned to leave, then turned back.  “If he says yes, will you still sing with us?”

Visions of Spike swam in her head, the two of them close together, sharing one microphone, voices dueling over the risqué lyrics she normally sang with Devon.  Fantasy Spike’s shirt melted away, while droplets of sweat trailed down his chest and well-defined abs, down into his waistband, and his black-rimmed blue eyes blazed at her.  Buffy gripped the edge of the desk, knees weak, glad she had something to lean against.  Singing with that man would be a bad, bad idea.

“Sing?  I guess so.  Sure.”

 

*******

 

Spike yawned, a shudder travelling up his spine as he unlocked the back door to the Bronze.  His heart skipped a beat when he pulled the door open and the early morning sun landed on the woman waiting on the other side, illuminating her brilliant smile until it was dazzling.  She handed him a cup of coffee, then clasped her hands together, all anxious schoolgirl.  “So?  How’d it go?  You gonna be a Dingo ‘til Devon comes back?”

He took a moment to drink her in before he answered.  Buffy was right cordial with him anymore, bordering on friendly some days, but today she was bouncing with excitement.  Over him.  It was the best bloody morning he’d had in years, and he wanted to savor it.

“So?” she repeated, fluttering about him as he stepped into the hallway and let the door shut behind them.

“I dunno…” he said, playing coy.  “Think it went all right.  It’s been awhile since I’ve sung.  Felt a bit rusty.”

“That’s not what Willow said.  Willow said you were _amazing_.  You fit right in.”  She jittered by his side, and Spike began to wonder just how many coffees she’d had while waiting for him to show.  _Guess it’s not me what’s got her so excited._   “I wish I could have heard you,” she sighed.

_Then again…_

He slung an arm around her shoulders, more to still her nervous bouncing than anything else.  Surprisingly, she let him keep it there.  He took the opportunity to savor her proximity, reveling in the way her warm, soft curves pressed up against him.  “Thanks again for managing the Bronze last night so I could go audition, pet.  And if it all works out, you’ll have plenty of chances to hear me sing.  Sing with me too, if I understand it right.”

Blushing, Buffy ducked out of his embrace, leaving his side cold and bereft.  “Y-yeah.  I guess we’ll sing together.  Sometimes.  If I have time for practices.”

“We’ll hold them here.  Maybe during lunch hour, if the others can swing it.  Then we’ll both have plenty of time.  No need for one of us to cover while the other is off, eh?”  Spike would do whatever it took to sing with Buffy, whatever it took to bring another of his secret fantasies to life.  Last night, after the audition, he’d gone straight home and penned a duet with just such a possibility in mind, the words flowing out of him in a way that hadn’t happened for over a year.  It was sweet, not at all raunchy, and he wondered how his poor heart would hold up, hearing her sing words to him she would never mean.  He’d take it though.  He’d take whatever he could get from Buffy Summers.

The girl in question looked up at him from under her lashes.  “Okay then.  Good plan.”  She offered him a shy smile, the kind he rarely saw from her – at least not directed at him – then switched into business mode.  “I talked to the boss-man early this morning.  He was wondering if the inspector has called yet?  I told him I haven’t spoken to him, but I didn’t know if you did?”

Spike walked in step with her down the hallway, and wondered if his uncle had been right.  Would Buffy forgive him – and maybe someday even like him – if he showed her what lay beneath Spike?

 

*******

 

“Come on, you big baby.  You so need this.”

“But it’s cold.  And clammy.”

“Do you want to turn into a lobster?  Because skin this pale seeing the light of day for the first time in like, ever?  Not going to be pretty.”

“Knew I shouldn’t’ve come,” Spike muttered.  He presented his bare back to Dawn to be sunscreened, all the while eyeing Riley as he and Buffy tossed a football back and forth.  When Buffy had invited him along to their big beach outing, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.  Him hiding under a beach umbrella while she frolicked in the sand and waves with the jock.

Dawn squeezed the tube and let another cold glob fall onto his shoulder.  “I’m totally glad you’re here.  Otherwise, I’d be like the third wheel… or the seventh wheel, as the case may be.  Now that Buffy finally lets me tag along, it’s not as exciting as I thought.  Willow has Oz, Xander has Anya…”

“And Buffy has the overgrown Boy Scout.”

“Eh.  I don’t think she’s all that into him, honestly.”  On her knees, she shifted until she was in front of him, and rubbed his neck.  “I didn’t even know he was coming.”

Neither had he, else he wouldn’t have said yes.  He’d been so pleased when she’d asked if he wanted to go, it hadn’t even occurred to him that a beach outing was not a good idea for somebody as pale as he was.  Somebody who also didn’t own a single pair of shorts, until yesterday afternoon.

“Looks like you’re all covered – oh hang on.”  She rubbed sunscreen into his ears.  “Don’t want to forget those.  You ready to brave the rays?”

“And do what?” he pouted.  Let the jock show him up?  Sunbathe?  Not bloody likely.

She held up a Frisbee.  “Then, when we’re all sweaty and gross, I chase you into the water and dunk you.  It’s a time-honored tradition.  Come on.”

 

*******

 

Buffy grunted as the football caught her in the shoulder.  She hadn’t been paying attention again, her eyes drawn to Spike and Dawn playing in the water, splashing each other and laughing, their loud squeals ringing across the beach.

Rubbing at the sore spot, she bent to retrieve the football and tossed it back without even looking at Riley.  A lump formed in her throat as she watched Spike, his hair unnaturally white under the bright summer sun.  He tackled Dawn into an oncoming wave.  The pair of them rose up and shook off like dogs, her little sister’s long, dark hair flying about her head.  Buffy grimaced.  Little sister in name only.  In every other way, Dawn was the bigger sister – taller, with longer legs and bigger boobs – all of which were nicely showcased by the new bikini she sported.  Dawn looked every inch the young college co-ed she was about to become. 

No wonder Spike couldn’t keep his hands off her.

At first, Buffy had barely noticed when Spike had gravitated towards Dawn as they’d piled into Oz’s beat-up blue van that morning.  It only made sense.  Willow had taken shotgun next to Oz, Xander and Anya no longer ignored Spike’s presence, but they weren’t overly friendly either, and Riley had claimed the seat by Buffy – leaving only Dawn.  As the morning had worn on, however, it had become more and more obvious to Buffy where Spike’s interests lay.  Before today, she’d never worried about him chasing after her sister, recalling how he’d once said he would never touch an underage girl.

Watching her sister cavort about the beach, Buffy had to admit Dawnie wasn’t underage anymore.  Her little sister was all woman.

She bit her lip, eyes glued to the pair in the water, completely ignoring Riley now.  Buffy wished she had never invited Spike along.  He’d overheard her and Oz talking after practice yesterday, which she’d had to forgo due to the mountain of phone calls she had to return.

“Big plans tomorrow, then?” he’d said to her when Oz had left.

“What?  Oh.  Beach outing.  We used to do it every week, but now that we’re all grownup-y, with jobs and stuff, it’s down to once a month.”  Thinking of her mother’s admonition that he was lonely, she’d said, “You want to go?  It’s just the gang.  Oz and Willow, Xander and Anya.  Oh, and Dawn.  You could bring Harmony if you wanted.”

“Why the buggering hell would I do that?”

“Or… whoever.  Or just come yourself.  That’s totally great, too.  It’ll be fun, I promise!”

He’d given her such a brilliant smile, she’d felt like she’d done the right thing.  Until now.  Seeing Spike in nothing but swim trunks had been a pleasant surprise; realizing Dawn was appreciating the same view – up close and personal – was far less pleasant.

“Hey Buff, you ready to go sit down?”

Riley hovered next to her, reminding Buffy of his presence.  “Huh?  Oh, yeah, I guess.”  She massaged her shoulder.  “It’s been a long time since I tossed a football.  Kinda sore.” 

Dawn shrieked and pushed Spike under the water. 

“You know, I think I might go for a dip first.  Just a quick cool down.”  She took off, jogging across the sand to the water’s edge.  Spike popped up, his white locks plastered to his head, while water streamed down his chest, following the contours of his well-defined pectorals.

Guh.

Another reason she shouldn’t have invited him.  Knowing what Spike looked like mostly naked?  Not good for the don’t-be-in-lust-with-Spike plan.

“Save me, pet!” he called to her.  “Your little sis is a right menace.  Gonna drown me.”

“Or you could help _me_ ,” Dawn said.  “Whaddya say, two against one?”

An excuse to get in between Spike and Dawn?  Never mind the added bonus of getting to put her hands on that compactly muscled body, all in innocent fun?  Buffy didn’t need to be asked twice.  A wicked smile crossed her lips.

Spike saw it, and he laughed.  “Gotta catch me first, then, ladies.”  He dove into the water and resurfaced several feet away, swimming with competent strokes down the beach.  Buffy followed on land while Dawn swam after.  She charged into the water right as he paused, reaching him well before Dawn, who wasn’t nearly as good a swimmer. 

Buffy strove to push Spike under.  Her hands slipped and slid over his wet, firm shoulders, but he’d planted his feet firmly, and he wrapped his arms around her upper body, pinning her own to her sides.  “Look at you, still mostly dry.  Don’t think that’s quite fair.”  He pulled tighter as she struggled, so that she wriggled against his hard slippery chest, legs and hips bumping his below the water.  His voice dropped an octave.  “Wanna get you all wet, kitten.” 

Her heart rate increased to near dangerous levels, and she clenched her thighs _.  Not a problem.  
_

Before she could retort he fell backwards, pulling her into the surf with him then shoving her away.  She emerged, spluttering, and pushed her hair out of her eyes.  “Oh that’s it.  You’re so going to get it.  Come on,” she said to Dawn, who had caught up.  “Between the two of us, you are going down.”

Even with Dawn, it was still hard to pin him.  He was as slippery as an eel, and as lithe too.  Buffy had seen his muscles before – and had dreamt of touching them – but this was her first indication of just how strong Spike really was despite his lean frame.  Every part of his torso rippled under her touch.  Before long, she and Dawn were panting, the gentle surf bobbing them up and down.

“I’m out,” Dawn said.  “Have at him, big sis.”

Spike turned to watch her go, and Buffy watched him watch Dawn, trying to read his expression.  Disappointment?  Longing?  Whatever it was, she didn’t like it one bit.

When Dawn was well out of earshot she said, “I know she’s not underage anymore, but she’s still off-limits to you, buster.  My sister deserves better than a one-night stand and whatever fun little diseases you’ve picked up.”

His entire body tensed.  “Sod off,” he snarled after a beat, without looking at her.  “You’re a right cunt, you know, always assuming that’s all I care about.”  He began to wade to shore.

Buffy stood frozen, surprised at his vehemence.  “And I would assume otherwise why?  I know you, Spike.  You forget that.”

He whirled to face her.  “No you bloody well don’t.  You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know what I see.  Every single day.  Tell me how I’m wrong.”

“Why bother?  Your mind’s all made up, isn’t it.  Got no use for truth in your world view.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

He scoffed.  “Bloody pointless.  Some pillock did you wrong.  More than one, likely.  And now all men are to blame.  All cheating scum in your eyes.”

“See, that’s not true.  I don’t think it of Xander.  Or Oz.  Or even Riley,” she said, gesturing at her group of friends.  “You know why I think _you’re_ scum?  Your very own actions.  Can’t argue with the facts.”

“What facts, sweetheart?”  She just stared at him, disbelief etched across her face.  He rolled his eyes.  “All right, yeah.  You wanna count last year, fine.  I was an ass, no argument there.  But that’s not me.  Not before that, and not of late.  You’re the one what said I’d turned over a new leaf.  Thought you believed it.”

“Newsflash, Spike.  You may not be drinking anymore, which I totally applaud you for – but the sleeping around?  Hasn’t changed.”

“Know that for a _fact_ , do you?”

It was Buffy’s turn to scoff.  “You want me to believe all you do is hold hands with your slut of the night?  Spend the evening in conversation and that’s it?”

“Believe whatever you want,” he said wearily.  “It’s none of your sodding business anyhow.”  Buffy turned to look at her sister, and he followed her gaze.  “Fine, _she_ is.  You’re concerned about Dawn.  Fair enough.  She’s safe from the likes of me.  And if she and I ever got together – not my goal, mind you, but if it were – I’d treat her right, promise.  She is a Summers, after all.”  He trudged off without another word, leaving Buffy to puzzle out his enigmatic declaration.

With her own sigh, she followed, far more slowly.  Riley watched her approach, a hurt look upon his face.  Great, another man she’d screwed up with today.  Buffy ignored the guilt.  She hadn’t actually invited Riley; he’d invited himself along when she’d declined his offer to take her out today, citing previous plans.  And it wasn’t like they were a couple or anything.  They’d gone out twice last year, and a grand total of three times this year, counting today.  On the other hand, she _had_ led Riley to believe she was interested in a relationship with him by always encouraging him to keep trying.  It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t find the enthusiasm to make time for him.

By the time she reached her towel, the others had wandered off down the beach, and Spike sat hunched under the umbrella, his back to her.  Buffy grimaced.  The poor guy was going to be in some pain tomorrow, if the pinkness of his skin was any indication. 

Plopping down next to Riley, she offered him a tired smile.  “Whatcha wanna do?” she asked, telling herself that she needed to put a firm end to things with him.  The sooner the better.  No more stringing Riley along – she didn’t want to be the kind of girl who kept a man hanging around just to have _somebody_.  She could be alone.  She’d been doing the solo thing for years now.  It was no big deal.

“You hungry?” Riley said.  “I can start the grill.  Prove my manliness by playing with fire.”

From somewhere behind them, Spike snorted. 

“That sounds great.  I could go for some charred meat."  Buffy swore she could feel Spike’s eyes burning a hole in the back or her head, but she refused to turn around and look.  She stood up instead.  “Come on, I’ll help you get it started.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

 

“Spike?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like I’m doing this a lot lately, but… I’m sorry.”

He was still pissed as hell that she never gave him any credit, though he’d had all night to think on what she’d said.  Of course Buffy would assume he was still shagging everything that moved given the way he chatted up the ladies.  It wasn’t true – making time with pretty birds was a way to pass the long, lonely hours of the evening, nothing more, and yeah, he really did stop at the hand-holding and conversation.  To be fair, if he saw another man behaving in a similar fashion, Spike would jump to the exact same conclusions as Buffy had.

Even so, it irked him she’d mistaken his affection for Dawn as something ugly, enough that he found he couldn’t acknowledge her apology this time.

Instead of leaving when he maintained his silence, she hovered in the doorway of his uncle’s office, toeing the ground.  Spike shuffled papers and resolutely ignored her, pretending to himself he wasn’t hyper-aware of her every movement and sigh.  When she still didn’t go, he said with a sneer, “You and Captain Cardboard have a nice time last night?  Finally get some of that stress worked out?  God knows you could use it.”

She and Riley had gone off on their own after the gang had returned from the beach outing, and when Spike hadn’t been pondering Buffy’s opinion of himself, he’d been wondering what the two of them were up to, his tortured mind imagining scenes he really could have done without.

“Ummm…”

Spike looked up at that, and tried to determine if her blush was one of admittance or denial.  Not that it mattered to him.

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but will you tell me the truth if I ask you something?” 

Narrowing his eyes, he shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

She let out a nervous laugh.  “Why are you dating Harmony?  Since you obviously aren’t interested in being faithful to her.”

“None of your business is right,” he choked.  “What the bloody hell makes you think I’ll answer that?”

“I said some things that weren’t very nice to you.  And you’re right, I don’t know you.  Or… more like I don’t understand you.  So I thought maybe I could try?  If anything, just so I don’t keep assuming you’re trying to screw everybody I love.  Because this is becoming an awkward ritual I could do without.”

Spike leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the desk, ankles crossed.  “I’ll clear one thing right up for you.  ‘M not dating Harmony.  Never have, never will.”

“But… she calls you her boyfriend all the time.  And you’re with her often enough.”

He barked out a laugh.  “Only because short of punching her in the face, I haven’t figured out how to get the twat to back off.  Turns out she’s not menacing enough to warrant a restraining order, and she’s too dim to understand me when I say I have zero interest in ever dating her.”

“Oh.  Huh.  Really?” 

“Pet.  If God himself came down and told me the only way to save the human species was for me to procreate with Harmony, well…  You’d better say goodbye to humanity right quick.”

She snickered, and he smiled back.  Buffy eyed him as though she was re-evaluating her world and his place in it, and Spike found himself hurrying to explain more. 

“Look.  Know fidelity is a hot button for you.  But we’ve had this conversation before.  I’m no cheater, and regardless of what you think of me, I do have a code of sorts.  Despite my, er… aberrations… last year…   I don’t take just anybody to bed.  I’m not interested in some other bloke’s girl.  I’m even less interested in tricking a woman into thinking I want a commitment when I don’t.  I’m not out to score notches.”  He wasn’t out to anything, not that Buffy needed to know that.  No need for her to realize he was such a pathetic wanker, he didn’t want to share his bed with anybody but her.  “Sometimes I just want the company, is all.  Surely that’s not so hard for you to understand?”

Buffy moved forward to sit in the chair across the desk from him.  “I wouldn’t say I understand, but…  I can see what you’re saying.  So what’s your story anyhow?  Why the big fear of commitment?”

Looking into those inquisitive green eyes became impossible.  Spike dropped his feet and avoided her gaze.  “No fear.  Not as such.  When the right one comes along… won’t be an issue.”

When he finally dared to look at her, she was scrutinizing him with an expression of such intense curiosity he couldn’t catch his breath.  She’d looked at him like that before, from time to time.  Spike’s normal response would be to ham it up with a leer and an innuendo or two, but he didn’t want to scare her off.  Not now.  Not when he might have a chance to convince her he wasn’t the cheating scumbag she thought he was.

He leaned forward and dared to lay his hand overtop hers.  “Thanks for the apology, kitten.  Means a lot to me.  And I’m sorry if I worried you.  Dawn’s like a little sis to me.  I’d never hurt her.”

“Yeah.  You know me.  Over-protective Buffy.”  She smiled, but it came off as a grimace.  “I just want to keep her from making the same stupid mistakes I did.”

He let the leer he’d been holding back steal across his face.  “Not that _I’d_ ever be a mistake…”

“And you’re back to full of yourself,” she said, eyes crinkling in amusement.  “I was wondering how long you’d hold out.”

“Someone ought to be full of me.”

She snatched her hand away, but it was worth it to see that delicious blush creeping up her cheeks, and beneath it - dare he hope? - a faint gleam of interest.  “Pig.”

“Can’t let you have too high an opinion of me, now can I?”

“That’s too bad for you.”  She pulled open the purse she had slung over her shoulder and retrieved a bottle of something goopy and green.  “Cause this?  Aloe.  I was going to offer to rub it on your back for you, but…”

Spike moaned in anticipation, desperate for the relief she held in her hands.  “I take it all back.  I’ll be a good boy, promise.  Do whatever you want.”  He gave her his best hangdog look, and he caught her trying to hide a smile.

“Poor Spike.  Is it that bad?”

“Put it this way.  I’ll never again have the urge to find out if I freckle, that’s for damn well sure.”  He crossed his arms to raise his tee shirt and whimpered. 

Buffy made a sympathetic noise.  “Here, let me,” she said, moving around the desk.  He swiveled his chair to face her and raised his arms as best he could.  Her fingertips grazed his sides as she grasped the hem and drew it upwards, slowly and carefully, apologizing when he hissed in pain.  Spike swallowed.  Despite the tenderness of his overheated flesh, he’d endure a hundred sunburns if it meant having the opportunity to watch her face as she removed his shirt, the intimacy of the act affecting her as much as him.

“Damn,” she said when his torso was bare.  Her hand ghosted over his shoulder, cool and soothing.  “You poor thing.  Um, lean forward or something so I can get your back.”  He obliged, scooting to the edge of the chair and leaning towards her as she popped the cap of the bottle and squirted a glob of goo into her palm, then rubbed her hands together.  “This is going to be cold,” she warned.

Spike nodded, but the first touch of her hands on his shoulders made him yelp nevertheless.  “ _Balls_ , that’s cold.”

“I know, sorry.” 

As she smoothed the aloe over his upper back in slow, light strokes, he groaned and slumped forward, letting his forehead rest against her abdomen.  “You’re an angel, pet.  My own personal angel of deliverance.”  Buffy took more aloe and then bent to reach his lower back, the action pressing her closer to him.  He breathed her in, fingers twitching into fists as he repressed the urge to wrap his arms around her hips and bury his face in her taut belly.  She continued to stroke her hands over his body, fingers dipping just below the waistband of his jeans, and her movements turned slower and more tentative, until the sting of his skin became the furthest thing from his mind.  Spike recalled how her body had felt against his in the ocean yesterday, wet and slippery and barely clothed, all smooth golden skin and soft, firm flesh.  If it wouldn’t have meant she were in pain, he would have wished she were as sunburned as he, just so he could offer to return the favor. 

Her hands stilled, coming to rest on his shoulders.  He looked up, past her hitching chest and into her solemn eyes.  “Don’t stop,” he whimpered.  “Hurts.”

“O-okay.”  Buffy licked her lips, reached for the bottle, and squirted out another glob.  She began again, working the cooling sensation into his upper arms and then back over his shoulders, her touch becoming more exploratory with each gentle stroke.  His cock, already straining against his pants, grew painfully hard.  Spike hissed when her hands slid forward and grazed up his sides, then stroked along his shoulders once more.  Her right hand continued tentatively upwards, along his jaw line, to cup his cheek.

She cleared her throat.  “All done.  Is that better?”

Wrapping his hand around the smaller one upon his face, Spike brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand.  Her fingers quivered against his cheek, and he folded them and brushed his mouth over her knuckles.  Buffy’s other hand tightened on his shoulder, digging into his tender skin.  Spike held back a wince.  “Healing touch, you have.  Thank you.  The backside of me is much better.” 

She chewed her lip, clearly thinking something through.  “Good.  I’m glad.  So… I’ll just leave the aloe with you, and you can finish your…”  Buffy stepped away and motioned to his chest, cheeks pink.  Retreating further, she added in a rush, “I have to get a bunch of stuff done before practice, so I’ll see you then, ‘kay?”  

Buffy disappeared in a hurry, leaving Spike with a goofy grin and a raging hard-on.  He snatched it the bottle of aloe and headed for the men’s room with plans to apply it his chest and abdomen, and then maybe a little lower as well. 

 

*******

 

Buffy lurked near the stage, watching Spike sing and dreading the moment it was her turn to stand up there with him.  After giving him a rubdown this morning, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way his muscles had first tensed then relaxed under her fingertips, or of how his hot breath had tickled the sensitive skin of the palm of her hand as he kissed it.  She rolled her glass of ice water over her cheeks, desperate to soothe them.  It felt as though she’d developed a permanent blush, and the burning only worsened every time he glanced her way.

It didn’t help that Spike, with his tight, faded jeans and even tighter t-shirt, was sexy as hell on stage.  This was the first time she’d actually watched him sing, having made do with listening from her office last time, and his voice rumbled as he caressed the microphone stand like a lover, leaving her jealous of the inanimate metal.  Buffy figured she wouldn’t be able to squeak out a single word once she got up there; she’d be too busy melting into a puddle of lust.

Stupid, stupid hormones. 

If only she hadn’t promised to sing with them, she could hide in her office and ignore the slow gyration of his hips and that knowing smirk.  Buffy dropped her eyes to the sheet music in front of her, staring sightlessly at the words to the new song she was supposed to try out today.  With only three weeks left until the Battle of the Bands opened, she couldn’t afford to skip practices.  At least this new song was a solo, although Oz had hinted there might be another duet ready in a week or so.  She hoped it wasn’t as provocative as the other one.  Singing a piece like that with Devon was fun, nothing more, but Buffy had the dismal feeling she would have to exercise more self-control than she ever had in her life to keep from humping Spike’s leg before the chorus of ‘Hither’ was through.

The band fell silent, and Oz nodded at Buffy.  “Ready?”

Was no an acceptable answer?

She climbed the stage.  “What are we doing first?  The duet or the new one?”

“Let’s do ‘Hither’ first,” Spike suggested.  “Then I can get back to work while you lot practice the other.”

Thighs trembling, she moved to the microphone.  “Good plan.  You’ve heard this before, so it should be easy enough.”  As Oz started the opening chords, Buffy regretted her words.  Spike wasn’t shirtless, but he was warm and musky, sending her senses into overdrive.  She stood stiff as a board, afraid to move closer, sweat snaking down her back. 

This wasn’t going to be easy at all.

Spike began, blue eyes blazing with a lust she didn’t think he was faking, and her mouth turned to cotton.  When her turn came, she croaked something out, and missed the beat entirely.  The band screeched to a halt.  “Sorry!” she said.  “Guess I’m out of practice.” 

On the second run-though, she came in on time, but her voice was breathy and faint.  Spike motioned her closer to the microphone.  She shook her head and stepped away instead.  He picked the mike up from the stand and handed it to her with an encouraging smile, singing louder to compensate for his own distance.  Somehow, she got through the song, although it was easily the worst rendition she’d ever given.  “Wow,” she apologized.  “Looks like I’m the one who needs to work on it, not you.”

Lowering his voice, Spike asked, “Does it make you too uncomfortable to sing with me?  Because I won’t force you into something you’re not comfortable with, Buffy.”  He watched her anxiously.

“Practice,” she said.  “I just need to practice.  At home.  Alone.”  She bobbed her head for emphasis.

“Right…”

“It’ll be fine.  Like a riding a bike.  No worries.”

“Wellll…”

“Let me work on this new song today, and we’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”

Spike nodded.  “Sure, love.” 

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as he sauntered away, the light-headed buzzing in her head fading with his every step.  “Sorry guys,” she repeated.  “Hopefully that was just a fluke.  The Waterworld of an otherwise illustrious career.”

“We all have our off days,” The Troll said. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Oz added.  “We’ll run through ‘Time and Again’ once, and then you try, okay?”

Blowing out a breath, Buffy nodded.  “It’s a plan.”

 

*******

 

Practice the next day wasn’t much better.  Her own song was fine.  Great even.  Buffy knew ‘Time and Again’ would be a hit.  The duet, though…  Oh, she nailed the words.  Got them good and loud, on pitch, perfect timing.  The problem was Spike.  She had to close her eyes and imagine he was Devon in order to go through with it, though her eyes popped back open whenever she sensed him drawing near, sending her skittering away in order to maintain control over her voice.  Buffy suspected she looked ridiculous, and her suspicions were confirmed when Oz took her aside after practice.

“Did Spike do something to upset you?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and peered around to make sure the man they were discussing was nowhere nearby.  “No.  It’s not him.  Well, it is, but it’s not his fault.  I’m just… used to Devon.”

Oz’s brow wrinkled.  “We can drop the song.”

“No.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  If I can’t get comfortable singing with him, we might have to.”  Buffy wrung her hands together.  “This other duet, the new one…  What’s it like?”

“Totally different.  More of a love song.”

Buffy wasn’t sure that would be any easier. 

 

*******

 

Spike was already there when she arrived at work the next morning, which was strange enough, but even stranger, he held a guitar in his hand when he greeted her in the hallway.  “You have a few minutes?”

She eyed the guitar.  “Um.  I guess.”

“Thought maybe we could work on singing together.  Get you used to me.”  Buffy tensed, ready to flee.  No way she could handle singing that song alone with him, nobody else around, just the two of them cloistered together while Spike claimed it was hot in the office and removed his shirt…

“…easier, what do you think?” he said, interrupting her fantasy.

And the perma-blush was back.  “Huh?”  Her eyes were glued to his lips – lips that twitched into a smile, as if their owner knew just what direction her thoughts had taken.

“Come on,” he said, and led the way to his office.  Buffy noted with relief that he left the door open.  “Sit there.”  He pointed to the armchair in the corner of the room and she complied, perching on the edge, hands folded in her lap and knees pressed together.  He dragged a stool over to her and half-sat upon it. “Buffy.”

“What?”

“Look, love.  I know you have a gorgeous voice.  And I know it’s not the song – I’ve seen you belt it out with Devon, yeah?  Which means it’s me.  No, don’t,” he said when she made to protest.  “If you’d rather not sing with me, tell me now, no hard feelings.”

Plucking at an invisible thread on her pants, Buffy said, “I want to.  It’s just… weird.  Different.  And I think the fans would be awfully disappointed if we didn’t do ‘Hither’.  It’s one of their favorites.”

“With good reason.  So here’s what I’ll do.  I’ll sing something painless, and you join in when you’re ready.  See if we can’t get you used to me.  Sound good?”

She nodded, and Spike began to strum.  “ _Jingle bells, jingle bells…_ ”

Buffy sniggered.  “Seriously?”

“Nice and safe,” he said with a smile.  “One of those songs you can sing anytime, anywhere.  With anybody.”

He had a point.  “Christmas in July it is, then.  Sing on, Saint Nick.”

“Nothing saintly about me, pet,” he retorted, that damned tongue proving his point, and Buffy stiffened.  Why did he have to go and do that?  Just when she was starting to relax?

“You’re not helping, you know.  I _never_ had to worry Devon was going to verbally assault me.  You, I can’t help but wonder what nasty thoughts are running through your sick mind when we sing… you know.  Stuff like that.”  She couldn’t bring herself to repeat any of the lyrics in his presence.

Spike cleared his throat and quickly turned away.  “Yeah, well.  Devon’s a bloody poofter if it doesn’t affect him.”

“Oh my god.”  Buffy grinned.  “Are you blushing?  You are!  You’re blushing!”

“What?  Am not!  S’hot in here, is all.”

Her own unease forgotten, Buffy jumped from her chair to do a victory dance, pointing at Spike and laughing.  “You’re blushing, you’re blushing, nyah nyah nyah, I made you blush.”

“Oh, very mature.  Seems I should be worrying about _you_ verbally assaulting _me_.”

She flopped back into the chair.  “Sorry,” she giggled.  “It’s just… _finally_.  Nice to know you can be embarrassed too.  Instead of always being Mr. Cool and Collected Sexy Guy.”

Spike’s eyes twinkled.  “Careful, love.  You keep on calling me sexy like you do, I’m going to start thinking you mean it.”

“Nope, not going to work.  You’re not turning it back on me.  In fact…”  Buffy smiled as a mischievous thought crossed her mind.  “Turnabout is fair play.  So tell me, Spike,” she said, her voice turning husky as she scooted closer to him.  She rested her hands on his knees and looked up into his startled face.  “What kinds of thoughts _do_ you have about me?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed – once, twice, three times – and Buffy felt a rush of power.  She could turn _him_ into a quivering, helpless mess.  Sliding her hands a fraction higher, she pressed his legs apart to slip her own in between.  “Do you _yearn_ for me?” she asked, quoting the only lyrics she could manage without blushing herself.

“Buffy…”  Spike’s eyes darkened, and his chest rose and fell as he tried to regain control.  She slid her hands upwards another inch, and noted with satisfaction how his legs trembled beneath her touch.  He let out a whimper.

She tossed her hair and sat back, prim and proper once more.  “I thought we were singing,” she said, innocence personified.  “Jingle Bells?  Hello?”

Spike continued to grip his guitar, knuckles white.  “Don’t play with me like that,” he choked out. 

“Why not?  You do it to me.”

“Difference is, I’m more than willing to go through with it.”

“And how do you know I’m not?” Buffy blurted before she could stop herself.

The guitar fell from his grip and bounced onto the carpeted floor below.  Spike ignored it to lean forward, hands on the arms of her chair, his stormy eyes too close for comfort.  “Are you?  Willing?” 

Buffy squirmed, the armchair preventing her retreat.  “N-no.  No way in hell,” she said, eyes downcast to avoid his.  “I’m not about the casual fling.  And you don’t want a real relationship.”

“What if I did?”

Startled, she looked back up and searched his face.  He stared back unflinchingly.  “Are you serious?” 

“It’s crossed my mind.  More than once.  You’re a hell of a woman, Buffy.” 

His answer left her flummoxed.  She knew he was attracted to her, but that he might want to date?  Like a proper boyfriend?  Spike _had_ to be toying with her.  “Oh, I’m the one who could tame your wild ways, am I?”  She laughed, making light of his words.  “Thanks, but no.  I don’t think I want to take that chance.  This girl has had her heart ripped out by enough men who didn’t believe in monogamy for one lifetime.  Besides.  I don’t even like you, remember?” she said lightly.

Buffy bent over the arm of the chair to retrieve his guitar, then pulled it between them and used it to force him backwards.  “I have some calls I need to return, but I think this is a good idea.  This – the singing Christmas carols together this.  Not the, uh… other this.  You wanna try again over lunch?”

Spike’s foot jittered, and he shrugged.  “All right.  If you want.  Be a good time since we don’t have practice today.” 

“Hey.”  Buffy let her hand drop to his shoulder when she stood to move past him.  Whether he’d been toying with her or not, she felt the urge to soften her earlier rejection.  “Thanks for trying.  It really is a good idea.  I appreciate you helping me out.”

He cleared his throat.  “Purely selfish of me, pet.  Want to put on a good show for the crowd.  Brings more money in.”

“Oh.  Well, okay.  Thanks anyways.”  She squeezed his shoulder, ignoring the disappointed feeling his response had evoked, and left.

 

 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially halfway through now!

 

Spike heard Buffy humming long before she rounded the corner to the alley.  After a final drag, he crushed the butt under his heel and waited for her, slouched against the brick wall, smiling as memories of the last two days washed over him.  They’d sung together every spare moment they’d had, Buffy approaching him as often as the reverse, and Spike thought she might be ready for something a little more challenging than Frosty the bloodySnowman.  He’d had to dig deep to remember the Christmas tunes of his youth, but it had been worth it to watch her laugh and smile as she relaxed around him, and even share a microphone last night after the club had emptied.

Buffy smiled when she saw him waiting.  “Look at you, all early-birdie again.  Keep this up, I might think you’re responsible or something.”

“Never that!” he mock-gasped.  “Why do you insist on insulting me?”

“Freak.”  She smiled wider though, and Spike’s heart swelled.  “So?  Got time to sing now?”

He couldn’t help but wonder if he looked like a love-struck fool.  Surely he must be grinning like an idiot after catching the note of anticipation in her voice?  “’M all yours, pet,” he said, opening the door for her with a flourish.  Buffy glanced at his hand on the door, clearly taken aback, and then her smile turned so sweet, Spike was surprised he didn’t melt into a worshipful poetry-spouting puddle at her feet. 

Once ensconced in his office, he took his place on the stool, guitar in hand.  “Thought we might move on to something a little less cutesy today.”

Her fingers tapped against her knee, but otherwise Buffy didn’t react.  “Whatcha got in mind?”

“How ‘bout you tell me – what did you enjoy singing for show choir?”  He held a hand up.  “ _Not_ Britney or Backstreet Boys, please.  Something that won’t make my ears bleed.”

“Haha, very funny.  I think you’d know my tastes run a little deeper than that.  Besides,” she added.  “I get the feeling you’re a closet fan of Britney.  Her name rolled right off your tongue, as if you’d said it a thousand times.”

“Oh, aren’t you the cute one.”

Buffy looked him up and down.  “Please.  Cute does not apply to you.  So, yup, I think so.”

Couldn’t argue with that, could he?  “Point.  Now pick a bloody song and let’s get on with it.”

Twenty minutes later, Buffy was loose enough that he suggested they try an actual duet.  “Maybe something from Grease?” he said cautiously.  Wasn’t his favorite – in fact, he’d had to teach himself the songs the other day, when he’d first had this idea – but he figured the popular musical was something Buffy would know and be comfortable singing with him.

“I don’t know the words.  Not by heart, I mean.”

“No worries, got them right here.”  He retrieved the printout from his desk, pretending he wasn’t the world’s biggest prat for having them ready and waiting.  “You, uh… you want to go up front and do it with the mike?”

She rose from her chair and headed for the door.  “You’re really taking this seriously.” 

Spike sniffed.  “Yeah, well.  Like I said.  ‘M a business man now.  It’s all about the profits.”

“I don’t think so.  You’re very… you have this air.  Like you really know what you’re doing.  Did you sing in a band?”

“For a time.”  He shrugged.  “Garage band, that sort of thing.  Bit like the Dingoes.”

“What happened?”

“Same thing that happens for most all bands, I expect.  I grew up.  Fame and fortune wasn’t in the cards.”

Buffy studied him.  “Huh.  That surprises me.”

“What?”

“That you didn’t make it.  You have a great voice.”  She glanced about and lowered her own, even though they were alone in the club.  “Maybe even better than Devon’s.  It’s, um…”  Spike waited, curious to see what she would say.  She toed the ground, then looked up at him from under her lashes.  “Sexy.”

His head tilted as he took a turn to examine her.  “Really?” 

 “Like you don’t know it,” she said, cheeks pinkening further. 

“Been told so on occasion, yeah.  But if _you_ say so, must be true.  Not going to give me any unwarranted compliments, are you.”

Buffy laughed.  “Come on, Mr. Businessman.  I have actual business I should be getting to, so we’d better get to serenading each other.”

If Spike had been a sixteen-year-old girl, he might have squealed at her choice of words.

 

*******

 

Later that day, Buffy chugged her water, then pushed her sweaty hair out of her face.  It was the best practice they’d had yet.  ‘Hither’ was by no means gig-worthy, but it wasn’t the awkward mess it had been only a few days ago, thanks to Spike’s idea.  She began to think that they would be able to knock it out by the time the Dingoes opened for the Battle of the Bands.   

“You guys all ready for tomorrow?” she said.

“Seems like,” Oz said.  “We’ve got most of the songs worked out, so, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Spike turned to her.  “You sure you’re okay with me running off to San Diego with the band.”

“Abso-positively.  This way the Dingoes have a lead singer for their long-awaited gig, and I get you out of my hair for a day or two.  You’ll have fun.  The Streetcar is a great club.”

“Yeah.  It’s posh,” Spike said, nodding.

“You’ve been there?”

“Saw it once.  A few years back, when I came for a visit.  Checked out the scene, you know, that kind of thing.”  He pulled his t-shirt away from his body to fan himself, and Buffy missed the way it had clung to his torso.  “Still wish you could come too.”

“Eh.”  She waved her hand.  “One of us has to stay and watch over the Bronze.  I’ll be able to travel with the band once Giles gets back.”

Spike’s lower lip crept out.  “Yeah.  But by then, Devon’ll be good as new, most likely, and I’ll miss out on the fun of road tripping with you.”  He stepped closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper.  “Spending the night at a hotel.  Arguing over sleeping arrangements.  Deciding who shares your bed…”

_Whoa.  Down, hormones._

“That’s easy.  Willow.  She’s my bunk buddy.”

“Isn’t that a pretty picture,” he said, leering.  “Don’t suppose there’d be room for a third in that bed.”

Oz stepped in between them and drew himself up to his full five foot six inches.  “Oh, there’s room for a third.  It’s the fourth that’s an issue,” he said, and Buffy had to bite her cheek to keep from cracking up at the expression on Spike’s face.  Giving Buffy a surreptitious wink, the short, blue-haired man snaked his arm around her waist and led her away, across the club floor.

“Thought you could use a save,” he said when they were out of earshot.

“Oh.  My.  God.  That was brilliant, Oz.”  Her belly hurt from holding in the howls that wanted to erupt.  “He so needed to be put in his place.”

Oz grinned.  “He’s going to be wondering about it for days now.”

Buffy noticed Spike slinking closer.  “Let’s add a little fuel to the fire, shall we?”  Leaning forward, she kissed Oz on the corner of his mouth, knowing Willow would forgive her for such a good cause.

 

*******

 

“Tell me the wee little man was only taking the piss out of me.”

Buffy looked up, startled, as Spike shut the door to her office behind him.  The rest of the Dingoes had only just left, and she was trying to get caught up on her work.  “I can honestly say I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.  Was that even English?”

 “ _Oz_.  He was joking, right?”

She eyed him.  “First of all, calling Oz wee?  Not like you’re going to be starting for the NBA anytime soon.  Second, none of your damned business.”

“But…”

“Did you need something?  Kinda busy here.”

He glared at her.  “Doesn’t seem fair is all, since you’re the one what always accuses _me_ of being a slut.”

“Oh.  Oh, you better not be suggesting what I think you are,” Buffy said, kicking her chair backwards as she stood.

“Well, why not.  Riley here.  Oz there.  Hell, for all I know you’re doing the lot of them, Sam and The Troll too.  And then you pull my strings, make me dance for you when that’s not excitement enough.”

Buffy bit her cheek again, this time to keep back the tears.  She pointed a shaky finger at the door.  “Get out.  _Now_.”

Jaw ticking, Spike did as she bid, and slammed the door behind him.

 

*******

 

Spike pounded his head against the wall, feeling like the biggest dick in the history of the universe when Buffy’s sobs erupted on the other side of the door.  Why such vitriol had erupted from his mouth, he couldn’t fathom.  Well, yes, he could.  But Buffy wasn’t Dru.  Or Cecily.  Maybe she’d been teasing him, but she didn’t play games the way his ex had, and she sure as hell wasn’t the conniving bitch he’d implied.

Christ, he was an asshole.  And he didn’t even have the booze to blame it on this time.  Spike slid down the wall.  His heart squeezed in his chest as he listened to her cry, and he wished he could get good and snockered to dull the pain.  So much for the tentative friendship they’d been developing, never mind anything more.

When her tears finally subsided, he wiped at his own eyes and hurried to his office, wondering how the bloody hell he would ever fix this cock-up.

 

*******

 

After nearly tripping over the flowers outside her door, Buffy stormed to Giles’ office and flung them in Spike’s face.  “This fixes nothing,” she spat.

“I know.  Believe me, I know,” he said, and his expression was so abject, she didn’t storm back out as planned.  Instead, she settled for glaring at Spike, letting him bear the full brunt of her pain.

“Was planning on a long period of groveling as well.  On my knees.  And letting you get a few licks in while you’re at it.”  He sat slumped in the chair, his eyes as red as she was sure hers still were, a day later.  “I’m a first-class dick.”

“Kinda.  Yeah.”

He moved around the desk and offered her his cheek.  “Go on, I deserve it."  He waited, immobile, for the sting of her hand.

Buffy frowned.  Okay, mad still, definitely.  Furious.  But something occurred to her.

“Spike?  How bad I’m hurting right now – is this how I make you feel?”

“Huh?”  He jerked as hard as if she had actually slapped him.  “What are you on about?”

A shamed feeling crept over her.  “Whenever I, uh… you know.”  She cleared her throat.  “Accuse you of the same.”

“Oh, no.  No, no, no.”  He grasped her hands.  “I’ve earned your mistrust.  In spades.  And you’re not entirely wrong.  Whereas that was the biggest load of shit what’s ever come out of my mouth – and this coming from a moron with no brain-to-mouth filter.”  Hot tears leaked out before she could stop them, and Spike wiped them away with the pad of his thumb.  “Hey.  No more tears.  You have a sharp tongue, true, but it’s part of your charm.”

“So you like me because I’m a bitch?” Buffy sniffled.

“Like you for all sorts of reasons.  Your clever tongue being only one of them.”

Buffy released a shaky breath.  “You are so weird.”

“And you like that about me?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t like you at all,” she retorted, but her tone was petulant rather than harsh.  Not sure what to do now, she stared over Spike’s shoulder, hand trapped in his.

Spike shifted from foot to foot.  “I, uh, have a bit of time before we take off for San Diego.  You want to practice?”

“No, I don’t think so.  I’m still…  I might smash your guitar over your head.  Further groveling yet required.”  Her voice hitched.  “Or another day of avoiding you.  Which, hey, you’ll be gone, so.  Works out great.”

He winced.  “Fair enough.  I really am sorry.”

“I know.  I believe you.  And I’m sorry too.  How about this – no more insults.  From you _or_ me.  Not real ones, anyhow.”  She gave him a half-smile and squeezed his hand.  “Deal?”

She was startled when Spike pulled her close and enfolded her in his arms, but she didn’t resist, taking comfort in his warm, solid body.  “Deal, love.” 

Buffy rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat thumping beneath his thin t-shirt, wondering why she felt safe in the embrace of a man who infuriated her so often.  _Pure loneliness_ , she told herself, but she suspected it was something more.  Some emotion that went beyond lust, else he wouldn’t have been able to wound her the way he had.  Resisting the urge to cling to him, she disentangled herself.  “Have fun at The Streetcar.  Break a leg.  All that.” 

His crushed, scattered flowers caught her eye, and Buffy turned and fled, terrified to realize she was falling for yet another man who was destined to break her heart.

 

*******

 

“What’s this?”

“Further groveling,” Spike said, and pressed the plain envelope he’d proffered into her hand. 

Buffy opened it, eyes growing wide.  “No way!  How did you get these?  How did you even know…?”

“Willow mentioned it when we drove past one of those billboards yesterday.  Said you wanted to go, but-”

“It’s been sold out for weeks.”  She threw her arms around Spike.  “I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said about you.  And again, how did you get these?”

He shrugged, thrilled with her response but doing his best to remain casual.  “Knew a guy who owed me a favor.  Got connections,” he said with a wink.  “Want you to take the night off, go out with your boy.  Have some fun.”

She frowned.  “My boy?”

“Yeah, what’s-his-name.  Riley.”

“Oh.”  Buffy thumbed the pair of tickets in her hand.  “I don’t think I’ll be going with Riley.”

“Not his thing?”

“Um.  I don’t know actually.  More like because I broke up with him.  Or – broke up isn’t quite right.  Decided to quit stringing him along.”

“Oh, kitten, if it’s because of what I said...”

“No, actually, I broke up with him – or whatever – before that.  That day we went to the beach.”  Spike perked right up, but kept his face blank.  “The only reason I was interested in him was because he was safe, you know.  After Angel – and this other jerk – well, you can probably tell I’m a little bit gun-shy.  Riley seems like a good guy, but, things weren’t going anywhere.  I couldn’t be bothered to make time for us, and that wasn’t fair to him.  So I told him to move on.”

Spike held back an exuberant whoop and schooled his visage into a mask of sympathy.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it was for the best.”

“Oh.”  They stood awkwardly, and Spike wondered if he ought to admit something in kind.  He decided to go for it.  “You know, seeing as it’s sharing time – haven’t had a woman in almost a year now.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped backwards.  “Whoa, is that an example of your lack of brain-to-mouth filter?  ‘Cause so didn’t need the image.”  Nose wrinkling, she added, “And… really?  No way.”

“Not a one.  Wait, take it back.  Once.  One night after I moved here.  I was feeling low.  Real low.  Needed something, you know?  It was that or the bottle, and little comfort of the female variety seemed the wiser choice.”  Spike grimaced.  “Looking back on it, probably would have been less damaging to fall off the wagon.  Harmony hasn’t left me alone since.  Didn’t mean to give her the impression I was interested in more, but I must’ve somehow.  Was one of a long line of stupid decisions, I reckon.”

Buffy leaned against the hallway wall, brows drawn together.  “Wow.  So you really do stick to conversation only?”

“”M just a big tease.  Get ‘em all worked up and then say goodnight.”

“And now I _really_ feel bad for all those things I said.”  She studied him.  “You’re not playing with me?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Like _you_ were a scout.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

She snorted.  “I want picture proof.  Of you as a scout, that is.  Not your abstinent ways, ‘cause – _ew_.”

“Less’n you want a photo of me and my only girlfriend,” Spike said, jerking his left hand in a suggestive manner, “I s’pect you’re fresh out of luck on that one.”

“Okay, seriously.  _Ewwwww_ , Spike.  That filter you’re missing?  Look into finding one.”  She didn’t turn tail, though, and Spike leaned his shoulder into the wall next to her, almost giddy with relief that she was talking to him again, and – dare he say it?  Friendly.

“Since you seem to be in a true confessions mood,” Buffy said, and then trailed off.  He waited, and she rushed out, “What’s up with the monk act?  Is it related to the alcohol, or…?”

Spike felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but she didn’t tease him this time, only blushed herself, eyes large and round.  “Never mind,” she squeaked.  “That’s so not my business.  I can’t believe I asked you that.  When you find one of those filters, get me one too.” 

He shook his head at her discomfort, wondering how to answer her.  _Not_ answering wasn’t a choice, not when she’d given him the perfect opportunity to tell her something he’d wanted to for a while.  “No, no, it’s fine, pet.”  He glanced around, and said, “D’you mind much if we take this behind closed doors?  Not that there’s anyone around, but…”  She nodded, and he led the way to his office and shut the door.  Buffy sat in the armchair, so Spike dragged the stool over.

“Last few years,” he began slowly, “I was in a bad place.  Had some disappointments.  Made a lot of wrong bloody calls.  The more things went wrong, the more I drank.  Annnd the more I drank, the more things went wrong.  Go figure, yeah?”  He picked at his nail polish, afraid to see her expression.  “As the sob song goes, it all started with a girl that done me wrong.  She and your ex were of a kind, ‘cept mine went out of her way to make sure I found her out.  In my bed.  More than once.”

Buffy made a sympathetic noise, and he glanced up, startled to see her eyes glistening.  “I’m sorry,” she said, laying one of her hands over his.  Spike’s anxiety fell away at the contact, and he relaxed, reminded of another time and place, when she’d comforted a younger, more innocent version of himself with only a warm touch and a sympathetic ear.

He cleared his throat.  “Yeah.  So anyhow, apparently I’m the type of wanker who handles rejection by turning into a callous ass who uses and loses women before they can do the same to him.  Didn’t come to this revelation all on my own, mind,” he said when she squeezed his hand.  “Took drying out and one hell of an addiction counselor to clean me up.  When I finally took a good, long look at myself, I didn’t much like what I saw.  It wasn’t the kind of man I’d expected to be.”

“So… you changed?”

“As such.”

Reaching for his other hand, Buffy squeezed them both.  “Color me impressed.  That’s some serious strength of character.”  She shook her head in dismay.  “God, now _I_ feel like a first-class dick, the way I treated you.  How did you not tell me to fuck off?”

Spike smiled, his cheeks hurting from the force of it.  “Ah, pet.  Don’t feel bad.  It wasn’t like you had any reason to believe in me.  And I was prepared for it, honestly.  The counselor made it clear to expect a lot of hate and anger directed my way from those I’d done wrong.  ‘Twas all part of my atonement.”

Buffy stood, pulling him up after her.  “Thank you for telling me.  What you’ve gone through.  It’s, um… nice to get to know the real you.”  Spike felt a sharp stab of guilt at that, knowing how much of the real him he was holding back, but it fled a moment later when she pressed a kiss to his cheek.  “And thanks again for the tickets.  I _really_ appreciate it.”

He tried to speak and failed.  He coughed and tried again.  “You go on and have fun with Dawn or Willow or somebody.  Don’t worry about a thing here.” 

Spike hadn’t expected forgiveness from Buffy, and certainly didn’t feel he deserved it, but the smile she flashed at him was warm and open, without a trace of anger.  For the last few days, he’d had trouble breathing due to the guilt and anxiousness he harbored.  Her warm smile did nothing ease the constriction in his chest, though.  He still couldn’t breathe. 

It was just that now, it was for an entirely different reason.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Buffy found Spike in the alley, a cigarette cradled between his lips.  The sight brought forth another slew of conflicting emotions.  Smoking, so – gross.  Stinky.  But damn, did he look sexy, cheeks hollowed and lips pursed, eyes closed in bliss.  She wondered what it would be like to kiss a smoker, and then told herself there was a good chance she’d be finding out soon enough.  She was tired of denying her attraction to him, and now that she knew him better, knew a side of Spike she’d never even suspected existed, Buffy didn’t see the point of it anymore.

There was something there, between them.  

Time to find out what it was.

“How addicted to those stink sticks are you?” she said aloud.  “Seems like you have one more bad habit to break.”

Spike held the cigarette up in front of his face, scowling at the smoke curling from the tip.  “Yeah.  Gotta keep some vices, eh?”

“But one that will kill you?”

He flicked it away.  “Been trying to quit, actually.”

“I noticed you don’t smoke as much as you used to.”

“Good on me, then.”  He straightened.  “You here for a spot of practice before you trek off to your big night out?”

A spot of practice was a tempting offer – they were working on ‘Hither’ now, and it was delicious torture singing it with Spike – but Buffy had bigger plans.  “Nope, I’m here for something else.  I wanted to know your feelings about Stars on Ice.”

Spike rubbed at the back of his neck, brows drawn together in thought.  “S’not something I’d go out of my way to see.  Not particularly opposed, either.  Have to say I don’t really have any feelings, one way or the other, never having actually seen an ice show in my life.”

“Well, that’s very open-minded of you.  Didn’t expect that from a Billy Idol clone.”

“Book.  Cover.  Isn’t there some axiom or other ‘bout it?  I’d look into that if I were you.”

Buffy laughed.  “Point.  But this unexpected open-mindedness of yours makes my life so much easier.”

“How’s that?”

Linking her arm through his, she tugged him to the door.  “Let’s go grab that silly leather coat you love so much – you’ll need it to keep warm.”

Spike stopped her, hands on her upper arms.  “You mean…?”

“I want to give you the opportunity to strut around looking hopelessly out-of-date in the middle of July.  What better place than an ice show?”

“And is that the only reason you want me to go with?  To mock my fashion sense?”

“Oh, you foolish man.  I can’t mock what you don’t have.  But…”  She smiled shyly at him.  “I, um.  Do want to go with you.  If that’s okay.”

He looked doubtful.  “Instead of your sis or one of your chums?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”  She’d thought long and hard about it since he’d handed her those tickets four days ago, and while she wouldn’t have minded going with somebody else, the person she’d envisioned by her side since then was Spike.  Dawn had encouraged Buffy to ask him – nagged her into it, really – and now she stood breathless, waiting for his response.

Head tipped to one side, he studied her face.  “No, s’not okay,” he finally answered.  Buffy stared at him, surprised and dismayed by his rejection.  Apparently, she’d wasted all that time spent agonizing over whether or not it would be stupid to give in to her attraction and date the man.  He'd only been teasing her after all.  Swallowing her disappointment, she tried to pull away, but Spike tightened his grip.  “Have a club to run, remember?  We can’t both go gallivanting off.”

The meaning of his words penetrated, putting a stop to her attempt to flee.  Buffy smiled in relief, her humiliation melting away.  “I forgot to tell you the best part.  Yes, we can.  I arranged it with the others.  They’ll cover tonight, en masse.  Oz, Willow, Xander, Anya, Faith.  Even Dawn,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers.  “Between the bunch of them, I think they can handle the Bronze for one night.  And I have boss-man’s approval, before you bring it up.  Besides, it’s Wednesday.  Not much going on anyhow.”

“Is that right?  All this effort to secure me as your date for the night?  I’m flattered.”

“I-it’s not a date!" Buffy protested automatically.  "Puh-lease.  A date – as if.  You’re so dumb.”  Spike watched her stammer and blush, an amused smirk playing about his lips, but his eyes were warm and hopeful.  She sucked in a breath and, terrified he would laugh at her, said, “Do you want it to be?”

He tipped her chin up with one finger and brushed his lips over hers, leaving her trembling and tingling.  “Think I’ve already made clear I wouldn’t mind dating you, Buffy.  I’d be honored to be your escort for the evening.”

“Okay.”  She sighed dreamily before snapping to attention.  “Wait.  When you say escort, you don’t mean call-girl type escort, right?”

Spike arched his eyebrows, and then his bearing changed in an instant, turning stiff and formal.  Extending one arm and using the other to place her hand in the crook of his elbow, Spike inclined his head in a slight bow.  In a smooth, cultured voice, he said, “Miss Summers, will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to your event this evening?”

Buffy bit back her gasp of shock, heart pounding.  Despite the hair and the clothing, his resemblance to William was so strong at that moment, she felt faint.  _It’s not him_ , she told herself.  _It can’t be.  Spike – he’s not the jerk I thought.  If he were William, he would have told me.  I'm sure he would have._   Reigning in her turbulent emotions, she attempted to curtsey, but tipped sideways and righted herself with a laugh.

“Thank you, Mr. Pratt.  I would be delighted.”

 

*******

 

“So what’s the deal with you and ice skating anyhow,” Spike said as they settled into their seats.  “Seems like an odd hobby for a California girl.”

Buffy was looking all around, twisting in her seat to take in the whole of the arena.  “Doesn’t every little girl want to be an ice skater?  That or a ballerina.  For me, it was ice skating.  I went through this whole phase where I was going to be the next Kristi Yamaguchi, and I was going to marry Brian Boitano.  It could have worked too.  If I’d had talent.”

Spike chuckled and she smiled at him.  “Anyhow.  After that, it became a tradition to go to the Ice Capades for my birthday.  My dad took me every year.  Or he did, until…”  She trailed off, looking forlorn, and he kicked himself for ruining her good mood.  “He – he left us, and-”

“No need to explain,” he cut in.  “Uncle Rupert mentioned it once.  The less said about that wanker, the better.”  _And the bastard better hope I never meet him_ , Spike added in his head.  He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers.  “So.  If I remember my youth correctly, seems like there’s a requirement to buy junky souvenirs at events like this.  What do you fancy, love?  Or is it a program you’re after,” he said, spying a vendor waving one below.

“Spike, you don’t need to…”  Buffy frowned, then leaned towards him, expression intent.  “Hey.  What’s your name?”

 _His name?_   He panicked.  _This_ was not the place to reveal his true identity.  Not when he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.  “What’re you on about?  I’m Spike.  You know that.  You feeling all right?”

“There is _no_ way your mother named you ‘Spike’.  Come on, it can’t be that bad.  I won’t tell anybody.”

He laughed nervously.  “Gone by Spike for so long, can’t hardly remember my real name now.  Been, oh, ten years since anybody called me by it,” he exaggerated.

 “But if you and I are going to do this dating thing, I feel like I ought to know your legal name.”  Face scrunched up, she added, “ _Are_ we doing a dating thing?”

“Er… I suppose that’s up to you.”

Buffy looked thoughtful.  “It’ll depend on how strong my urge is to kill you by the end of the night, I guess.  Anyhow.  You.  And your mysterious name.  Unpleasant memory aside, I’m surprised I didn’t learn it at the police station.  Or did I and I forgot?”

Spike shrugged.  “Well, it’s forgettable enough a name.  _Fine_ ,” he said to her pointed look.  “Bill.  I’m Bill.”  Only his father had ever called him Bill, but he couldn’t bring himself to say William, couldn’t bear to see the dismay on her face.

She wrinkled her nose.  “Bill?”

“Look, there’s the program vendor.”  He leapt up out of his seat and caught the man’s attention, hoping to distract Buffy before she could remember Bill was short for William.  “How many you need?  Just one I reckon.  You want one or two?”

Buffy fumbled in her purse.  “One is good, thanks.  I’ll get it, since you bought the tickets.”

“No, no.  My treat.  Groveling, remember?”  Program in hand moments later, he sat back down and shoved it in Buffy’s face.  “Here, tell me all about these stars, so I know what to look for when it starts.”

“Um, sure,” she said, and Spike breathed a sigh of relief when she flipped open the glossy program and pointed to a photo.  He knew it was only a temporary reprieve, and that he’d have to tell her the truth sooner or later, but he wanted to ease into it the most gentle way possible.  He honestly hadn’t expected to ever be so lucky as to date Buffy Summers –he’d been stunned almost speechless when she’d sprung the idea on him out of the blue only hours earlier – and so, hadn’t bothered to imagine how to come clean.  Truth be told, the idea terrified him.  After overhearing Buffy’s conversation with Willow a year ago, Spike was convinced she would hate him when she learned the truth, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out if his assumption would prove to be right.

 

*******

 

It was that dreaded portion of the evening where they sat in Spike’s car – or Giles’ car, to be precise – in front of her house, dancing around the awkward goodnight.  Would he walk her to the door?  Would he kiss her?  At least she didn’t have to worry about whether or not to invite Spike in.  The one good thing about still living with your family: wee hour of the morning guests were frowned upon.

“Hey,” she said into the silence.  “Did you hear the news about Mom and Giles?” 

Drumming his fingers on his thigh, Spike shook his head.  “Haven’t talked to either in a few days.  They on again?”

“Better than on.  Mom’s going to go visit him.  For a whole week.”

“You’re not fooling me?”

“Nope.”

He grinned.  “I take it they’ve worked things out then.  That’s grand news.”  He cleared his throat and then fell silent.  Buffy played with her purse straps and tried to think of another topic of conversation.

Just then, the front porch light flipped on, saving them from more awkward tension.  “I guess Dawn’s tired of waiting on me,” Buffy said.  “She’s probably been lurking by the door waiting to ambush me.”

“Out of excitement or worry?”

“Oh, excitement.  She turned into total spaz-girl the minute I told her I wanted to take you with me.  She’s been your biggest cheerleader.  And the only reason I had the courage to ask.”

“I’ll have to thank her then.  For getting the final Summers woman in my corner.”  Spike opened his door and slipped around to her side, then opened hers.  “Better not keep her waiting much longer or she’s likely to piddle on the floor.”

Buffy laughed.  She took his extended hand and let him lead her up the front steps.  “I’m glad you came with me, Spike.  Thank you again.” 

He didn’t stop at the door, but pulled her after him to a dark corner of the porch, away from the window and prying eyes.  Buffy held her breath, anticipation making her knees weak, and she was grateful when he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back and drew her to him.

“Been waiting a long, long time to do this.”  He leaned down, warm breath tickling her face.  She closed her eyes, lips parting, and he captured them in a gentle kiss, his lips soft and full.  Buffy sighed into his mouth and reached her fingers up to tangle in his hair.  Spike groaned and pulled her closer, his kiss becoming more insistent as his tongue probed between her lips.

She let him in with a moan.  His tongue stroked hers, sweet and warm and searching, driving her desire for him to new heights and turning her to jelly.  Spike pulled back, breathing as heavily as she, and laid his forehead against hers.  “Better than anything I could have imagined,” he said.  “Taste like heaven, you do.”

Buffy cupped his cheek.  “You’re nothing but a sweetie under that big bad exterior, aren’t you?”

“Tell anyone and I’ll have to kill you.”  Spike kissed her again, soft and chaste, then led her over to the door and opened it with a twist of his wrist.  “All right, Bit,” he called out.  “She’s all yours.  Don’t keep her up all night with a gigglefest, I need her at work in the morning.”

Dawn laughed from somewhere inside, and Spike smiled.  “Night, love.”

When he didn’t let go of her hand, Buffy realized he didn’t want the evening to end either.  Leaning up on her tippy-toes, she gave him a quick kiss.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Spike?”

“Yeah, kitten.”

“You have to let go of my hand sometime.”

“What if I said I never wanted to let go of you?  Want to hold on to you forever.”

Dawn gagged from the other side of the door.  “Buffy, you broke him.  You turned him sappy.”  She appeared in the doorway.  “What did you _do_ to him?”

“Nothing?”

“She didn’t have to do a thing but be herself, Bit,” Spike said.

Buffy snorted along with Dawn.  “If I hadn’t been with you all night, I’d think you were drunk.  And if you say _anything_ about being drunk on life,” she said when he opened his mouth, “I will never talk to you again.  Get out of here, you big sap.”

Spike squeezed her hand and left in a swirl of long, black leather.  Buffy watched him stride down the walk, then closed the door and leaned against it, erupting into a fit of giggles alongside Dawn.

 

*******

 

Spike deposited the bouquet of flowers in Buffy’s office then retreated to his own, hoping she’d appreciate these more than the last flowers he’d given her.  Not that he had any reason to suspect she’d throw them in his face this time, but still.  After thinking about it last night, Buffy might have decided she didn’t want to date him after all.  He didn’t know what he’d do if that happened.  To finally have a shot at the girl who’d stolen his heart all those years ago and then lose it?  It didn’t even bear thinking about.

It wasn’t long before she knocked on his door.  “Good morning!” she sing-songed.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I think it carried over from last night.”

When she flopped down in the chair across the desk from him, Spike came around to perch on the edge, in front of her.  “This mean I passed your test then?  I can see you again?”

She peered down at herself, flipped her hands over.  “Did I turn invisible?  You’re seeing me right now.”  It was several moments before he caught the teasing gleam in her eye.

“Minx.”

Buffy grinned.  “If you asked me out again, I wouldn’t say no.  But, um.  I’m thinking we need ground rules.  What with the working together and all.”

“Ground rules?”  Spike’s elation faded.  He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

“At work.  We’re just colleagues.  Purely professional.”

Ah.  “Makes sense.”  He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, noting with pleasure that she didn’t resist.  “Otherwise we’d never get any work done.  I’d be too busy doing this.”  Spike followed his statement with a hungry kiss, anxious to explore her mouth again.  He’d been dreaming of kissing Buffy senseless all night, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity now.  She opened her mouth to him with a moan, tongue tangling with his, and Spike pulled her flush against his body, her warm, soft curves molding into him.

When the kiss broke, Buffy pulled back.  “God.  Yeah.  See, that’s bad.  We have things to do.  Big contest coming up…”  Her eyes zeroed in on his mouth, and she dove back in for another searing kiss.  Spike nibbled his way along her jaw to her ear, relishing the way she mewled and trembled.  “That tongue ought to be illegal,” she panted as he traced her earlobe. 

“Like my tongue, do you?”

“Yuh-huh.” 

“It knows lots of neat tricks, pet.  Lots more than this.”

“Okay, whoa.  Time out.”  She pushed away from him to stand on shaky legs.  “See, no smoochies in the workplace.  Bad, _bad_ idea.”  Her eyes flickered from him to the desk he sat upon and back, and she licked her lips.  “Especially when we’re all alone here.”

“Nothing to stop us but our own self-control.”

She wet her lips again, pupils dilated.  With a gulp, she took a step backwards.  “Good thing I have self-control then.  Lots and lots of self-control.  Which is much easier to find when I’m in a totally different room than you.”

Spike nodded, dazed, all blood flow headed south.  “Right.  I’m just going to…”  _Head to the bathroom and wank off_. 

“Yep.  Okay then.”  Buffy turned and hurried from the room, leaving behind only the lingering scent of her perfume.

 

*******

 

There was something about the bad boy mystique that had drawn Buffy in from the start, even as it repelled her, but she found this sweet, tentative, clearly besotted Spike even sexier.  And more dangerous.  She was going to have to find a chaperone, otherwise the temptation to sweep Giles’ big, sturdy desk clean and have her wicked way with Spike on it would be far too much for her lust-addled mind to handle.  His earlier kisses had made Buffy a believer of all Spike’s promises of sexual prowess, and damn if she didn’t want to test that prowess out.

But as much as she wanted the man, she wasn’t ready to get groiny with him.  Not until she knew and trusted him far, far better.  While he seemed to be somebody other than the womanizing creep she’d thought, she was withholding judgment – and physical intimacy – for now.

She headed for the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face and ran into Spike exiting the men’s, a sleepy, satisfied look upon his face.  When he saw her, his eyes widened and he blushed, while his left hand ducked behind his back.  Buffy had a sudden recollection of him demonstrating his ‘girlfriend’ for her, and she blushed too, the heat in her cheeks intensifying with the vivid mental images that accompanied her realization.  She clenched her thighs together.

“Buffy.”

“Um, hi.  You know what, I left something I need at home.”  She turned on her heel and called over her shoulder, “I – uh – I’ll be back in time for practice.”

_After I get some relief of my own._

 

*******

 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Spike called out when Buffy passed by his office, and she stopped.  Willow pulled up short next to her in the doorway.  “And Willow.  ‘Lo Red,” he said, and the redhead waggled her fingers at him.

“Willow came by to watch the practice, cheer for her boyfriend, that sort of thing,” Buffy told him.  She didn’t add the part about how she’d begged her friend to meet her at the Bronze and protect her virtue, such as it was.

Spike stood, paper in his hand.  “Got that new duet here.  I didn’t get the chance to mention it earlier.”  His eyes slipped to Willow, then back to Buffy.  “Did you want to run through it before the rest of them get here?”

Buffy glanced at the clock.  “I have few minutes now.”  She turned to Willow.  “Do you mind?”

“No problem.  Got my own work right here,” she replied, patting her messenger bag.  “Or did you want an audience?”

“Up to you.”  As long as Buffy knew Willow was in the building, that was all she needed to keep her hands to herself. 

“I’m going to go set up at one of the tables, then.  See you in a bit.”  Willow goosed her as she left, making Buffy flinch.

Spike dragged his stool next to the armchair.  “Shall we warm up with ‘Hither’ first?  Make sure we can still get through it without any awkward fumbling?”

She laughed nervously.  “I don’t know if it’s going to be easier or harder, now that we’ve kissed.”

“Oh kitten.”  Spike’s voice dropped to a silky rumble that set her belly on fire.  His hand slid down his chest and came to rest on his belt, fingers cupping the bulge below.  “It’s _so_ much harder now.”

Buffy crossed her legs.  “Work.  Professional,” she squeaked out.

“Is that why Red is here?  Keep you from acting on all your dirty little desires?”  He walked his fingers up her leg, and her hands clenched into fists.  “Think knowing she’s here will stop me from bending you over the desk and burying myself in you?”

Okay, what the hell had happened to sweet, tentative Spike while she was gone?  He hadn’t been quite this explicit in a long, long time.  Difference now was, instead of disgust, all she felt was rampant, hot desire.  His tongue did that damned curling thing, and Buffy shivered.  Chaperone or not, he was right.  She didn’t think her panties would stay on much longer if he kept up the sex god act.

“Spike,” she whimpered.  “Don’t.  Please.”

He bobbed his head and settled back on the stool with a satisfied smirk.  “As you wish, love.”

Buffy squirmed, damp panties uncomfortable.  “God, you’re an ass.”

“An ass with a purpose though.”

“To get in my pants?”

His eyes darkened.  “Well.  Yeah.  But beyond that.  S’pect you already know this, but – sex sells.  When you’re up on stage, the image you project is just as important as the music itself.  And so now that you can actually sing the words with me…”

“I’m not sexy enough?”

“Buffy.  Love.  You’re like a wet dream up on stage.  But I want to take it to the next level.  I want us to be sexy _together_.  I want all the good little girls and boys in the audience creaming their pants when we sing.  And when Devon comes back, the way your voices blend – if you’ve got the moves too?  The Dingoes are gonna have record execs lining up around the block.”

“You think?”

Spike nodded.  “Guaranteed.  First time I heard them, I thought they almost had it – just needed a little something extra.  _You’re_ that something extra, Buffy.  Strange though it is for an alternative band to have two lead singers – male and female no less – it works.  It’s the, uh, whaddyacallit.  The hook.  The thing that gives the Dingoes an edge.  Spruce up the image and I’ll have a career telling the paparazzi all about how I knew you back when.”

She considered his assertion.  “Fame and fortune…  I never really thought about it.  It was just fun, singing with the band.  Devon would be thrilled.  And the others too, I’m sure.”

He leaned forward, eyes travelling down her body, cataloguing her assets the same way he had when she’d first met him.  “You ready to send them to big leagues, sweetheart?”

Buffy shivered.  Spike watched her intently, and she wasn’t quite sure whether she was agreeing to image lessons or something more. 

Could she do as he’d asked?  Pretend to be a randy sex kitten?  Watching Spike watch her, gazing at her as though he wanted nothing more than to eat her up, gave her the confidence to try.  She sucked in a breath, then tossed her hair and gave it her best shot. 

“Sex me up, Spike.”

 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody nominated this story for Round 10 of the Running With Scissors Awards. Thank you!
> 
> Congratulations to Nonnikie, who noticed Buffy used Spike's lines from 'Crush' in the last chapter.

 

Guitar in hand, Spike stood.  “C’mere.”  He laid his Gibson down and pulled Buffy flush against his side, sighing internally at having her close again.  He suspected she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he had a good guess of what she’d run home to do earlier.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this lesson without injuring himself, he was so damned hard imagining Buffy crying out his name as she pleasured herself in her bed.  But she’d made it clear she wasn’t ready to shag yet, and that was fair enough.  He’d waited years.  A little bit longer wouldn’t kill him. 

Probably.

“Lesson the first.  In a nutshell.  Want you to imagine everything you do on stage is sexual in nature.  No call to be trashy about it, but turn your every movement into foreplay.”

Buffy shuddered against him.  “I’ve seen you on stage.  I think I get the idea.”

“Yeah, and now it’s your turn.  Let’s give it a go, all right?  Feel free to put your hands all over my tight, hot body while we sing, love.  The more, the better.”

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you’re just using this as an excuse to get me to feel you up?”

Spike laughed.  “Prolly ‘cause it’s true.  You know you want to anyhow.  Don’t be afraid to give in to your desire.”

“Fear is not the problem.”  She slid one hand up his chest in an exploratory motion.  “The problem is I want to do this way too much.”

He laid his hand overtop hers, halting her movement.  “Buffy.  Know I tease you, sweetheart, but I need you to understand something.  I’ve waited a long time for you.  And I’m willing to wait however much longer it takes.  Don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for, and I get the feeling that while your body is saying yes, your heart-”

“Is terrified.”  Green eyes stared into his, huge and solemn.  “Never mind that the only man I’ve ever loved was a complete asshole who ripped my heart into shreds and then stomped it into tiny little pieces.  When it comes to _you_ , my head is all confused.  I mean, first there was the hating.  And then the more hating.  Followed by a healthy dose of violent hatred.  I really only just stopped hating you, in the grand scheme of things.  So suddenly figuring out I kinda like you after all?  Makes for one cautious Buffy.  No offense, but while the desire is there, the trust hasn’t caught up yet.”

“No worries, kitten.  I understand.  I’m not going to hide how much I want you, ‘cause that would be bloody impossible.  But don’t take it to mean I’m asking anything of you.”

Buffy laid her head against his chest.  “Stop being so sweet.  It’s confusing.”  Spike tightened his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, perfectly content to hold her close.  “Can we put the lesson off for today?” she said after a long silence.  “I don’t think I’m ready yet after all.”

“’Course.  Let’s run through the new one.”

They took their places again.  Spike strummed his guitar and led her through ‘Yours Alone’.  After she’d had a turn to sing the words herself, Buffy sighed.  “That’s a beautiful song.  Kinda makes me jealous of Willow.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you know Oz was thinking of her when he wrote it.”

Spike shrugged and didn’t say a word.  He didn’t know how Buffy would react to learning he was the one who’d written ‘Yours Alone’, and he wasn’t ready to clue her in.  Not today, when everything was so fresh and new between them.  Not when she was already reeling from her emotions.  It was enough to hear her singing the words and know that, maybe someday, she might actually mean them.

 

*******

 

Buffy eeped when the back door to the kitchen opened, Spike strolling in as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to enter her house without permission.  “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to see my girl, of course.”

“Without calling first?  Or even knocking?  I could have been in nothing but my underwear for all you know.”

“And this discourages me how?  ‘Sides, I peeped in the window first, saw your unmentionables were all covered up.”

She stared at him.  “Admitting to being a peeping pervert does not make it any better.”

With a roll of his eyes, Spike said, “Fine, I saw Dawn on the way over, she told me you were already appropriate for company when I asked.  Next time, will you please let me pretend I’m a bad, rude man?  I have an image to protect, woman, and you’re ripping it to shreds.”  He crossed the kitchen in three quick steps and threaded his fingers through her hair with a happy sigh.  Buffy forgot to be irritated with him – it was hard to stay mad when he was so _cute_. 

“Now, can we move on to why I’m here?” he asked.

“Okay.  Why _are_ you here?  Since I’ll be seeing you at work soon enough.”

“Came to take you out on a date, of course,” he said with a boyish grin.  “Since we’re too busy the rest of the day, and there’s to be no funny business while we’re on the job.  I missed my girl.”

Buffy laughed.  “You see your girl every single day.  All day long.”

“Just go with it, pet.  Let me take you out and spoil you.  ‘Sides, I don’t get to do _this_ all day long, not with your sodding workplace rules.”  He lowered his mouth to hers, claiming it with a hungry kiss.

“Mmmm.  Tasty.”  Buffy hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and pulled him to stand between her thighs.  “I approve of this plan.”  She leaned forward, pressed her breasts to his chest, and darted her tongue between his lips, searching his own out.  Spike’s hands found her waist.  His fingers dug into her hips, squeezing and massaging.  One hand slid higher, until his thumb caressed the underside of her breast.

Buffy moaned her appreciation and drew him closer.  It had been a week since their first kiss and, true to his word, Spike hadn’t let his hands rove once, though he’d told her often enough want he wanted to do to her, usually right before they sang ‘Hither’.  Whether on purpose or not, his tactic worked, leaving Buffy so turned on she was ready to hump him on the stage.  They fairly smoldered when they sang, the sexual tension at such a fever pitch it left even Oz twitchy.

Despite that, they’d restrained themselves to no more than desperate, needy make-out sessions of the non-groping variety when Spike dropped her home at the end of the night. 

The errant thumb circled higher.  “This okay?”  Buffy only whimpered in response, pressing into his hand then gasping when his thumb grazed her hardened nipple.  He repeated his action, and her needy moan seemed to inflame Spike.  He wrapped his free arm behind her waist and pulled her flush against him.  Buffy’s eyes flew open.  She’d seen the bulge in his pants before – it was awfully hard to miss with those tight jeans and the way it seemed to stare at her when he was aroused – but feeling it up close and very personal? 

Whoa.

“Happy to see me, are you?”

“Baby, you have no idea.”

“Think I do, actually.” 

She rocked against him, trying to feel out just how big he actually was, and he throbbed in response.  _There’s no way…_   She settled her hand high on Spike’s thigh, wondering what he’d do if her hand slipped.  For scientific purposes, of course.  Just to validate her suspicions.

He nibbled his way down her neck and along her collarbone as his thumb continued its ministrations, and Buffy clutched at his thighs, her own thumbs sneaking inwards.  He groaned into her neck, sliding against her now, and she halted her exploration by sheer willpower alone.  Better not go there.  Not unless she was planning on taking advantage of this empty house, with a nice comfortable bed upstairs.  A part of her wanted to – the very wet part currently wriggling against the bulge in his pants – and if she didn’t stop now, that was exactly what was going to happen.

She shoved him away with shaky arms, and he staggered backwards, arms windmilling.  Buffy took several deep breaths, which Spike matched with a wild look in his eyes, and then she slid off the counter and eyeballed his crotch.  Feeling much younger and far more naïve than her actual years, she said, “Spike… is there something stuffed in your pants?  Something besides… you?”  He stood frozen, eyes wide and startled.  “I mean, did you tuck the TV remote in your pocket and forget about it by any chance?” 

He didn’t seem to be capable of forming a response. 

“I’m just feeling a little intimidated here.  Because if that’s all _you_?  No wonder sex has been nothing to write home about before now.  Have you measured that thing?”  She paused, thinking.  “Great, now I have to add a ruler to the list of things to keep handy for when we…  And I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Recovering his wits, Spike’s tongue danced along his teeth and he cupped himself, black-tipped fingers sliding sensually over the front of his jeans, leaving Buffy’s fingers itching to do the same.  He slinked closer.  “No need to wait if you’re so anxious to see.  ‘M more than willing to let you take a gander now.  Measure away to your heart’s content.”  He popped the top button of his jeans.

“But… date… and girlfriend spoiling… and…”

“You sure, sweetheart?  You wouldn’t rather stay in?  Wrap your pretty little fingers around me and find out for yourself what you’ve been missing all this time?”  Buffy swallowed and stepped to the side, away from temptation.  The leer changed to a grimace.  “Not going anywhere for a few minutes, anyhow.  Not ‘til I can walk again.”

“Sorry?”

“Are you?”  That sleepy, heavy-lidded look was back, but far more predatory than before, and her nerves jangled, leaving her breathless and a touch afraid – not of what he might do, but of what she would _let_ him do.  “Don’t quite think you’re sorry enough.  Maybe we should fix that.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Before she could react, one of his hands flashed out and caught her in a firm grip about the wrist, forcing her to stumble towards him as he walked backwards.  A split-second later he was seated on the stool next to the island.  He yanked her towards him and across his lap, face-down, both wrists caught in one of his large hands, leaving her stretched out and almost helpless.  She considered breaking free – his grip was slack enough that she could if she wanted to, and she knew he’d left it loose on purpose – but she was too turned on to even try to escape.

“You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl.  Teasing me.”  She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything but the floor and his boots, but his voice promised sex and pleasure with every silken word.  Spike’s free hand cracked down on the seat of her pants, right where her thighs met her buttocks, and Buffy bucked in surprise.  His hand came down again and the sting, surprisingly painless, released a rush of moisture.  Her face burned with a mixture of humiliation and arousal.

“Oh God!” she cried out when he did it again.

“You sorry yet?  For leaving me in this state?”

“Yes!” she sobbed, thighs spreading apart as she arched upwards, seeking contact again.  Spike obliged, his smack meeting her throbbing pussy now that her legs were open.

Gently, his hand came down again, rubbing away any remaining sting as she writhed beneath it.  “I do believe you are.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson young lady.”  He gathered her up in his arms and pulled her to his chest, and Buffy buried her face in his neck.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded when she found her voice.

“Now we _both_ can’t walk.”  Buffy scowled at his smug tone, but a moment later he was prying her head up with one finger beneath her chin and looking anxiously into her eyes.  “Did I go too far?  I’m sorry, I should have asked, pet.  You were just so… spankable.”

“Um.  I think asking would have defeated the purpose.  So, yeah, surprised, and _holy hell_ that’s a big thing to jump to right after reaching second base for the first time ever.”  Spike’s face fell, eyes filling with remorse.  She tucked her head back into his neck.  “I knew I could have stopped you, though, so…  You didn’t do anything I didn’t want?”

His arms tightened around her.  “You sure?  You don’t sound sure.”

No, Buffy wasn’t sure.  Kinky was not a word she would have ever used to describe herself, but her soaking panties indicated otherwise, much to her embarrassment.  Spike’s obvious concern made her arousal feel a little less shameful.  “Well, I didn’t know I wanted you to do that, did I?  But.  I’m not opposed to doing it again… as long as you let me return the favor.  Just, you know.  Maybe I’m not ready to jump right into the kinky stuff.  Not before we even…”

“Make love?”

Buffy sat up to look him in the eyes.  “Is that what it would be?”

Spike smoothed her hair back, then whispered a chaste kiss across her still-burning cheek.  “Of course it would.  Every time, no matter how kinky or how tame, I would be making love to you.  Haven’t you sussed out yet that I’ve been crazy over you for a long, long time?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, Buffy Summers.”

“Oh.”  She fidgeted in his lap.  “You know I’m not there yet, right?  I mean, I think I might be.  Someday.  I could see falling in love with you.”

“Kitten, that’s more than I ever thought possible.  Don’t force it.  Told you before, I don’t expect more than what you’re willing to give, but there’s no way I can keep from telling you how I feel.”

Buffy traced his lips with the pad of her thumb, amazed at the emotions swirling in his eyes.  “I don’t know how you do it.  Perverted creep to world’s sweetest boyfriend in twenty seconds flat.  No wonder my head is always spinning around you.”  Spike sucked her thumb into his mouth.  His wet tongue tickled the fleshy base and his hand found her breast once more, making her squirm.  “Annnnd we’re back to sex god.”

He released her thumb with a wet plop.  “You want to get off my lap and we’ll head out, or…”  Spike tweaked her nipple as he licked the shell of her ear.  His warm breath tickled along the wet trail he’d left.  “You wanna just get off?”

Twisting so she straddled him, Buffy said, “Tempting.”  She tugged his shirt up and slipped her hands under, running them up his contoured abs and across his hard chest to his nipples.  He shuddered, and she grinned.  “ _Very_ tempting.  But you have to take me on this second date before we go any further, mister.”

“Hmmm.”  A devious smirk curled the edges of his mouth.  “You could nip upstairs and get busy with your vibrating substitute while I wait right here and imagine you all splayed out on your bed, pretty little pussy quivering.  Then we’ll both feel a whole lot better.  Probably be more productive today too.”

Buffy sucked in a breath.  His dirty words and the mental image of Spike stroking himself in her kitchen were almost enough to get her off then and there, never mind ‘nipping upstairs’ for the substitute.  “You are such a-”

“Bad, rude man?”  He waggled his eyebrows.

“I was going to say pig.”

He grinned unrepentantly.  “So?  Which is it to be, love?  Head off or get off?”

She leaned in to capture his lips in a long, slow kiss that left both of them panting, then swung off his lap and fluffed her hair.  “Let’s go, Spikey.  Time’s a-wasting and Buffy wants her date.  The contest starts next weekend and then we’ll have no time for something as frivolous as dating.”

Spike groaned.  “You naughty, naughty vixen.  You’ve just earned yourself another spanking.”

With a sway of her hips, Buffy headed for the front door and tossed a coquettish smile over her shoulder.  “I’m counting on it.”

* * *

 

** Chapter End Notes: **

Errr... Blame 3hours for the random spanking.  It's her fault.  :)


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

 

“You sure you’re okay with Spike coming along?”

“I don’t mind at all.  The more the merrier,” Willow said as they made their way downtown.  “And I intend to make very merry this summer.  I’m going to miss you guys when I’m in grad school.”

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving.  Now that I’m back,” Buffy said.

“I’ll just be a few hours down the coast.  _And_ it’s only a two-year program.”  Willow shivered and dropped her voice.  “Not looking forward to doing the long-distance thing, though.”

Buffy shook her head.  “Oz is nothing like Angel.  You got one of the good ones, remember?”

“I do.  But I can’t help but worry.  I worry.  It’s what I do.  Willow the worrier.”

“I’ll be right here keeping an eye on him for you.”

“I know.  And speaking of getting a good one… how is Spike?”

Buffy smiled to herself.  “I know you guys think I’m crazy.  After all that time bitching about him.  But when you get to know him… there’s a real person in there.  A very sweet person.”

“Who happens to be incredibly hot.”

“This doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m not surprised, actually,” Willow said.  “Xander doesn’t get it, but I do.  I spent some time with Spike when we went to San Diego.  He’s not the jerk he pretends to be.”

“He was.  Before,” Buffy reminded her, thinking of how Spike had almost come between Xander and Anya.  “Xander has good reason to not trust him.”

“He’s coming around, though.”

“Yeah.” 

Buffy thought back to the conversation she and Xander had had earlier in the week.  After she’d told him about herself and Spike, Xander had stood up to pace.  “You’re kidding me, right?  You’re dating Spike.  Spike – as in tried to ruin both our lives Spike?  As in, you’re the president and I’m the vice-president of the ‘We Hate Spike Club’?”

“Um… yes?  I know it’s a bit of a shock-”  Xander had snorted.  “But he’s not the same guy as last year.  And you were the first to say it, Xand.  Remember how impressed you were when he apologized to you?”

He’d run a hand through his brown locks.  “I know,” he’d said.  And I see the difference in him.  I do, Buff.  But it doesn’t mean I have to like the idea of him macking on you.  He may not be the same old Spike, but that doesn’t make him good enough for the Buffster.”  He’d halted his pacing in front of her.  “Any chance you would kick him to the curb if I asked nicely?”

Buffy had winced.  “Are you going to ask me to make a choice?”

“God, no.  It’s your life, and you’re more than capable of making your own decisions.  It’s just…”  He’d shuddered.  “Spike.”

“I don’t expect you to be his friend.  Just, you know, try not to make him uncomfortable.  Too much.”

“For you?  Anything.  And hey, I remember how you guys kept your mouths shut when I dated Cordelia, so, I think I can return the favor.  One insanely friendly Xander coming up.”

Grateful, she’d taken his hands.  “I’m sorry.  I hate this.  I don’t like knowing you have to put on a false front with the guy I’m dating.”

“Ah, I’m just venting.  It’s not that bad, really.  I mean, Spike’s never going to be my favorite person, but-”

Buffy had burst out laughing, and he’d given her a curious look.  “Sorry.  It’s just – that’s what I used to say.  Word for word.  Spike’s never going to be my favorite person, but.”

“And it better stay that way,” he’d said with a grin.  “’Cause if Spike becomes your favorite person, where does that leave the Xand-man?  I’m not ceding my place to him.”

She’d thrown her arms around him, thankful for her best friend.  “Well, of course not.  Who could ever replace you?” 

Willow poked her, drawing her out of her reverie.  “You okay?  Daydreaming about your hot new honey again?”

Buffy laughed.  “About Xander, actually.  Shhh, don’t tell Spike.”

“Ah well, that’s completely understandable.”  Willow glanced at her watch.  “We better hurry if we’re going to get you back in time for practice.”

 

*******

 

Spike paced the Bronze’s parking lot, smoking his fourth fag of the last ten minutes.  Hearing Buffy approach, he tossed it away and pulled out a stick of gum.  Bloody filthy habit, that;  it didn’t do to taste like ashes if you wanted your girl to snog you.

“You sure you can handle this, Dawnie?  I know all you have to do is answer the phones ‘til we get back this afternoon, but…  Yeah, okay.  Thanks.”  Buffy flipped her cell shut.  She placed her hand on the small of his back and leaned up to buss him on the cheek.  He gave her a tight-lipped smile, and her hand began to move in small, soothing circles over his tense muscles.  “We can stay here…” she offered.

“You think I’m going to ask you to miss an outing with your mates?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”  Her eyes were so soft and understanding, Spike fell in love all over again. 

He sniffed in an attempt to hide his stupid, nancy emotions.  “Like I’m afraid of your lot.  Bunch of poofters, all.”

“Nice.  Skip straight past stiff upper lip and head right for rebel without a clue.  And you wonder why you incite antagonism in others.”

“Nah, antagonism’s natural when faced with a specimen as superior as myself.  Makes ‘em jealous.”  Buffy’s expression grew guarded, and he chastised himself.  Pillock that he was, he was making the girl uncomfortable, and right after she’d done her best to soothe him.  “’M just teasing, love.  Feeling a bit…”

She stroked his cheek.  “Nervous?  Out of place?”

“Maybe a touch.”  He kicked at the ground.  “Seems I’ve forgotten how to place nice with the other kiddies.”

“Don’t be.  You’ve been working with these guys for weeks now.  And you’ve been out with us before.  You still have the residual hint o’tan to prove it.” 

Spike smiled, to demonstrate to Buffy that her reassurances were working.  And maybe they were, a bit.  Still.  Spending the entire morning with Oz and Willow was easy enough, he’d done that before;  it was Xander and Anya he was concerned about.  Anya was distant with him on principle, and Xander…  If the boy ever deigned to say a friendly word to him, Spike would be checking the weather reports in hell in the very next second. 

“The beach outing was different, love.  I was just a hanger-on then, not the bloke they suspect is going to make your ex look like a right catch.”

Buffy tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and brought his head down for a kiss.  “Then you’ll just have to prove them wrong.”  He heard the hint of challenge in her voice.  _Prove me wrong too_ , it said.  _Prove to me I can trust you_.

Spike never was one to turn down a challenge.

 

*******

 

Hands linked, Buffy and Spike strolled down the path, a good distance behind the others.  “Why’d we come again?” she asked.

“Spend time with your mates away from the Bronze?  Get one last hurrah in before we spend the next four weeks tied to work?”

“Ah.  I knew there was a reason.  Still…”

“Not your cup of tea?”

“Not my cup of anything.”  Buffy gestured at the neatly manicured vineyard.  “It’s grapes.  Row after row of grapes.  Not seeing the thrill here.”

They walked on in silence.

“Pretty, though,” Spike ventured.  “Nice day.  Fresh air, all that rot.  Birds twittering, sun shining.”  He stopped and turned to face her, drew a strand of her hair through his fingers.  “Makes your hair shine like a halo, it does.”  He repeated his action.  “You’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?  If the word didn’t have such blasted associations, I’d likely wax poetic and call you an angel.”

Buffy smiled and ducked her head.  “Thought you weren’t the poetic sort.”

“Guess you bring it out in me.  Bring out all the best in me.”  He hesitated, as though he were about to say something else.  Buffy waited.  The moment stretched onwards, silent and pregnant with anticipation, but when she opened her mouth to ask what it was, he bent to kiss her instead.  Heedless they were falling farther behind, she returned his kiss with enthusiasm, losing herself in the passion he evoked so easily.

Mini-make-out session over, she snuggled into his arms.  “Think they’ll notice if we go missing?”

“I s’pect so.  ‘Sides, if we don’t catch up, we’ll miss out on the wine tasting.  Whole point of being here.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose.  “But you can’t.  And I don’t want to.”

“You don’t?  Not going to bother me if you tipple, love, I can handle it.  I do manage a bar, after all.”

“I know.  But I don’t drink either.  Nothing good ever happens when I drink.  So I just… don’t.”

“Oh.  Why we here then?”

“Spend time with my friends away from the Bronze?”

Spike arched one eyebrow, then gazed pointedly into the distance, where the tour had just rounded a corner.

She sighed.  “Yeah, okay.  I guess we better catch up.  Touring Temecula wine country sounded neat when Willow suggested it.”

“Sunshine.  Birdies.  Fresh air,” he reminded her, then tugged the keys to Oz’s van out of his pocket and dangled them in front of her face.  “S’pose they needed a designated driver as well, so it’s a good thing yours truly came along.  They’d have been worse off with you behind the wheel, way I understand it.”  She punched him in the arm, pouting, and Spike laughed.  “And then, love, while they’re getting snockered on the bounty of the land, we can retreat to the big comfy van and occupy ourselves in more rewarding ways.”

Her breath caught.  “If this van’s a-rocking…?”

“Summat like that.”  He gave her a mischievous smile, then took her arm and hurried them towards the rest of the group.

Buffy chattered with her friends while the tour wended its way to the cellars, noting with gratification that Spike and Xander were making an effort to be civil to each other.  When the sampling began, she snagged a few pieces of cheese then made her excuses to Willow.  “Spike… and all the alcohol.  He’s feeling a bit antsy, so I’m going to go keep him company somewhere else.  We’ll see you at the van when it’s over, okay?”

Willow nodded her assent and Buffy collected her boyfriend, almost dragging him to the van, tingling with anticipation.  He leered at her.  “Anxious, are we?” 

“You’re just so _lickable_.”  She traced her tongue up the side of his neck as he unlocked the doors.  He slid open the side door and grabbed her about the waist, then tossed her into the van so that she fell splay-legged on back couch.  He pounced on her, mouth closing over her fabric-covered breast and making her moan.  “Spi-i-i-ike, we can’t get too – oh!”

He’d dragged his mouth down her belly and had nudged her shirt up with his nose, and now he was licking his way along the waistband of her skirt.  “You say something about licking, sweet?”

“Hnnnggg.”  His mouth moved lower, down her denim-clad hip, while his fingers slid up her inner thigh.  “Stop,” Buffy panted, burying her hands in his hair and tugging him upwards.  “We’ve only got a few minutes.  This tasting thing doesn’t last that long, and then it’s on to the next winery.”

Tongue curled, Spike said, “Wouldn’t even take me that long to get you off.  Don’t you want me to?”

“God, yes.”  He slipped downwards again, forehead butting against her knee and spreading her legs farther apart.  “But!  Not like this.  Not _here_.”  They’d gone beyond simple necking in the last several days, leaving Buffy quivering in anticipation for what other pleasures that supple tongue could provide, but the thought that they might be interrupted sent her knees clamping around Spike’s ears just as his fingers brushed against the damp silk of her panties.  She jackknifed off the couch with a yelp, and crashed both of them to the floor.

“Bloody hell!”  Spike rolled his neck with a wince.  “Didn’t know this was a full-contact sport.”

“Sorry!  You startled me!” 

“Remind me to tie you down next time I venture southward.”

Buffy’s eyes grew round at the thought.  Her legs fell open and her head lolled to the side.  “ _Bzdguh_.” 

“Oh, you like that idea, do you?  Want me to tie you up and have my wicked way with you?”

“Stop.”  She waved her hand weakly at the door.  “Others… coming.”

“Well if they are, we’re clearly missing out.  I ought to help you along.”  Hot fingers danced up her exposed thigh.  “Such a naughty girl you are.”

Buffy licked her lips, cheeks flushing.  “I’m not like this.  I’ve never… It’s you.  You’re doing something to me.”

“Just setting you free, my love.  You’re a passionate little thing.  All you needed was the right man to show you the way.” 

Staring up into his eyes, she had to agree – with Spike, she could see herself exploring the sensuality he promised to the fullest.  Parker had been a one-time deal, nothing but the basics, and she and Angel had never made it past girl-on-top, never mind anything as tame as doggie-style, even.  Spike was offering so much more, and she wanted it.  _Craved_ it.  Her sex throbbed when his fingers brushed her center again, and her eyes slipped shut, the world outside narrowing to the heady sensations he evoked with his teasing.

Moments later, Spike gathered her up and set her to rights.  “Huh?” 

He brushed a kiss over her lips then jerked his head towards the sliding door.  “Got company.”

“Oh.  _Oh!_ ”  She smoothed her hair, fingers dancing anxiously while she tried to slow her breathing.  “How do I look?”

“Not nearly as ravished as I’d like, but it’ll do for starters.  We’ve got two more wineries to hit yet.”

She straightened her skirt and crossed her ankles demurely.  “You, Spike, are a bad, rude man.”  He laughed in delight, and then the doors popped open and her friends poured in, mercifully oblivious to the sexual tension in the air.

They behaved themselves at the second vineyard, staying with the group the entire time.  But once they reached the third stop…

“Oh.  Crud.”

“What’s wrong Buffy?” Xander said. 

“I don’t feel so good.”  She put a hand to her forehead.  “Too many long days and late nights.  Maybe I’ll sit this one out.  Lie down.”

“We can skip it,” Willow said.  “Just go home.”

Buffy shook her head.  “No, no.  We’re here.  I’ll take a nap.  Go on.”  She waved her hands at them, including Spike in her directive.

He left, but was back moments later, locking the van doors behind him.  “Oh thank god,” she said.  “I was worried I’d have to take a nap after all.”

“Like your doting boyfriend would leave you to suffer alone.”  He scooped her onto his lap.  “Where were we?”

“Ummm… well, you were turning me into a wanton hussy that is _this_ far-”  She pinched her thumb and forefinger together, leaving only a sliver of space.  “- from jumping you in Oz’s van.”

Grinning, Spike nuzzled her neck while his hand quested under her skirt.  “Figure we’ve got a good half hour at the very least before we have any interruptions.  You gonna let me finish what I started?”

_Oh boy_.  “With… your mouth?”

“’Course, sweets.”

“Okay, well, here’s the thing.  I’ve never done that before-”

“Never?”

“Never.  So… add in the almost public aspect and you might be short-circuiting my kink-meter for the day.”  She trapped his roving hand between her thighs.  “But, um, I’ve been thinking about…”  She took a deep breath and forced herself to say it.  “ _Fantasizing_ about blowing you.  For the last hour.”

Spike groaned, then leaned back to look at her.  “So the whole while you were chatting with your mates, that was what was running through your pretty little noggin?”

“Yes?”

He appeared cross-eyed for a moment.  “You may be the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.”  He nudged her off his lap then slid to the floor in front of her, on his knees.  “Let me take care of you first, pet.  Please?  If it makes you too uncomfortable, I’ll stop.  But you can’t tell me nobody has ever kissed your sweet quim and not expect me to rectify this cosmic error immediately.” 

Watching him stare up at her from below, eyes filled with desire, fingertips tracing patterns on her bare knees, Buffy found herself nodding despite her nerves at somebody getting up close and personal _down there_ for the first time.  Her _quim_ , as Spike had called it.  Which must be another strange British term – and why couldn’t he just speak English?

Her musings were cut short by the glide of Spike’s fingers up her thighs.  He rucked her denim skirt higher then curled his fingers around the edges of her panties and tugged.  “Lift up, would you?”  Buffy obliged.  The feel of the white silk sliding down her legs and leaving her exposed was more sensual than she ever would have thought.  Spike slipped one foot through, and left her panties puddled around the other one.  “There now.  Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Buffy snapped her knees shut.  “You’re staring.  It’s creepy.”

“I’m admiring.  Totally different vibe.”  Spike brushed the backs of his fingers over her damp curls.  “Give us a look,” he said, expression sweet and tender and, yes, _admiring_.  A leer – sexy though it was – would have superglued her knees together for the rest of the day, but his soft smile relaxed her enough to allow his gently prying fingers to work their will.  “Beautiful.  Now, er – hold on to something, would you?  No more trying to twist my head clean off my neck, all right?”

“All ri – ohhhhhh.”  Buffy wrapped her hands around something, she wasn’t quite sure what, and bucked upwards at the first touch of his tongue.  Spike pushed his body in between her legs and gripped her thighs to keep them away from his ears.

“I’ll tie you up if I have to.” 

She couldn’t think to form a retort, too busy gasping as his tongue lapped upwards then flicked across her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You like this, kitten?”  He delved deeper, while his thumb moved to press down on her clit.

“Yuh-huh-huh-huh…”

Before long, Buffy had let go of whatever she’d been gripping and tangled her hands in Spike’s hair.  She held on for the ride as he licked and sucked and flicked and swirled, and wondered in between moments of incoherence how she’d been so unlucky to go without this experience her entire adult life.  When Spike curved his fingers inside of her, tapping repeatedly at a spot that made her let out a hoarse shout, while his tongue circled her clitoris, she exploded into orgasm.  Blood rushed in her ears and bright lights flashed behind her eyes.

She came down slowly, chest heaving and extremities tingling, and it was several seconds before Buffy realized she’d trapped Spike’s head, fingers buried in his hair to keep him in place while her thighs did the same, his face obscured by the juncture of her legs.  She had a sudden moment of terror that she’d smothered her boyfriend and she let go with a startled cry, legs snapping open and hands shoving him backwards.

“Mind the – pet?  What’s wrong?”

“I – I’m sorry.”  Buffy covered her face, mortified.  “I thought I’d suffocated you.”

Spike laughed, and she blushed harder.  “Usually it’s the other way around – concern the one on the receiving end has suffered an untimely death.”  He scowled.  “Feeling a bit miffed actually that didn’t happen.”

 “I felt all died and gone to heaven-y – until I thought I’d suffocated you.”  A slightly hysterical giggle escaped.  “It’s not the best way to come back to your senses after a mind-blowing orgasm.”

He grinned at her, absently stroking her calf.  “Mind-blowing.  I’ll take it.  Though I think my first instinct was right.  We’d best tie you up before we try that again.  There’s only so much punishment my neck can take.  Not like I’m superhuman, you know.”

Buffy combed her fingers though his hair, taming the wild curls she’d wrung out of it moments earlier.  “Let me make it up to you?”

“No need for tit for tat, if you don’t want.”

“You do remember the word fantasy coming out of my mouth?”

“Oh.  Riiiiiight.”  Spike got this look on his face, something between boyish wonder and pure sensuality, that made Buffy’s heart melt.  “Tell me more.  And don’t be stingy with the details.”

She leaned down to kiss him then tugged him up onto the couch beside her.  “Wouldn’t you rather I show than tell?” 

“Nope.  Want to cuddle for a bit first.”  True to his word, he snuggled into her side and petted her hair.  “Start talking.”

“You’re a very strange man.  But I think I’ll keep you.”  Buffy sunk into Spike’s embrace, happy and boneless as she caressed his arm in return.

“Don’t hear any talking.”

Buffy closed her eyes and did her best to oblige him, even though dirty talking was something she’d never done before. 

_Just add it to the list of firsts for today_.

“Well… when we were walking, I was thinking about the size of you.  And how I really want to touch you.”  Except for the occasional brush, Buffy hadn’t dared yet.  Maybe she wasn’t a virgin, but between her limited experience and how long it had been since she’d last had sex, she felt as timid as one around her obviously far more skilled boyfriend.  “And, um, that made me wonder how big you really are, and if you’d fit in my mouth.  Which made me wonder what you’d taste like.  And if you’d enjoy it.”

“Go on,” he said, voice low and rough as he nuzzled her neck.

“So, uh… what I really wanted to do was fall behind the group.  Out in the open field.  Under the sun.  I would drop to my knees in front of you once we were alone and run my hand up your length…”

“Show me how?”

Spike rolled so he sat splayed on the couch, ready for her, and Buffy did as she’d described.  When he twitched under her touch, she gasped and pulled her hand back, then tried it again.  “So, yeah.  Finally getting to feel just how big you really are – and don’t think I haven’t been wondering about it.”  She stroked him through his pants, thinking big was the operative word, then popped open his top button with her other hand.  “I’d want to bring you out and hold you.  Feel how warm you are.”  Another button popped, and then another. 

Buffy stared. 

No underwear.  Just Spike.  Bigger than she’d even imagined, head straining and purplish and leaking, veins running up his shaft.  “Wow.  Intimidation back full force.  I wish I had my ruler now.”  He laughed, and his cock jumped.  Buffy slipped her fingers around it, marveling at the soft skin, and Spike groaned.  “I knew not all men were created equal, but _wow_.”

“The other boys didn’t measure up?”

Her other hand joined the first.  “You could say that.  Are you…  And again I ask – is that normal?  Or average or whatever?  Have I been cheated?”

Spike ducked his head, blushing despite his pleasure at her words.  “Don’t rightly know.”

“Oh come on.  I know men do this.  Measure.  Compare.  Look it up on the internet.”  She slid a hand up, skimmed her thumb over the head. 

He sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed several times before he could answer.  “Might be a little bigger than average.  Nothing to call the Guinness folks over.”

“Hmm.”  She rose up on her knees and stroked his length with a small twist at the head, enjoying his gasps and shudders.  Buffy eyed his bobbing length, then inclined her head to kiss the tip, wondering if she’d be able to give him half the pleasure he’d given her.

“That’s it, love.”  Spike threaded his fingers through her hair, far more gentle than she’d been, though his hips rose up slightly.  “Feels nice.”

Nice?

_Nice?_

Without warning, Buffy dropped down as far as she could, tongue swirling while one hand squeezed the base of his cock.

“Oh sweet Jesus _fuck!”_

Spike’s pelvis shot straight up, and his grip on her hair turned painful.

She smiled around his shaft.  Now that was more like it.

 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Buffy twirled the phone cord around her finger, then stretched it out, foot tapping as she spoke to Giles.  “Only a few hours left now.  I feel like I’m going to barf.  So many things could go wrong.”

“You are doing wonderfully, my dear.  I wouldn’t have remained in Bath if I didn’t believe you and Spike could manage on your own.”

She relaxed a fraction.  “That’s surprisingly comforting.  But you’ll be back before the contest ends, right?”

“Long before.  I wouldn’t miss it for anything.  This contest is, after all, the culmination of all your years of schooling.  And I have to sign off on it to your department head.  Give her the glowing report I’m sure you shall deserve.”

“Shhh, don’t jinx things.”

He chuckled.  “How are things with my nephew?  You seem to have – er – found a way to reconcile your differences, as I understand it.”

“Talking to Mom about me again, are you?  I knew there was a downside to getting you two back together.”

Giles cleared his throat.  “He is treating you with respect, I trust?  Otherwise I can have a word with him.  Remind him-”

“Thanks Dad,” she said, laughing.  “You do know I wouldn’t give him the time of day if he was still the same jerk he used to be, right?  He’s respectful, believe me.” 

_Worshipful, even_ , Buffy thought, glad her mentor was on the other side of the globe and couldn’t see the stain on her cheeks as she recalled Spike worshipping her on his uncle’s hastily cleared desk earlier that afternoon.  “ _Just this once.  You need the stress relief, pet_ ,” Spike had said, and boy howdy had he provided.

“Frankly, I am relieved to hear you say so.”  The sound of Giles’ voice snapped her away from her memories and back to the present.  _Relieved to hear what now_ …?  Oh, right.  _Respectful_.  “He is a good man, Buffy.  He was raised properly, even if he did forget it for a time.  There is more to Spike than meets the eye.”

“I’m learning that.”  She thought of the bits and pieces of his childhood Spike had begun to share with her, a childhood that sounded surprisingly normal despite the delinquent attitude he projected.  Buffy smiled as her thoughts wandered to how he greeted her most every morning with a coffee.  Or a rose.  Or a pastry.  Always something small, but thoughtful. 

The real proof there was more to Spike than met the eye was how responsible the punk loser had turned out to be, keeping his uncle’s business humming.  That, along with the way he’d turned his life around, boosted her trust in him more than anything else.  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to sell your nephew to me.  I’m already firmly in the Spike can be a good man camp.”  She switched the phone to her other ear, foot still tapping.  “Speaking of romance, are you all ready for Mom’s visit?”

Giles hemmed and clucked and hurried back to the original topic of opening night.  “Will you ring me before you leave tonight and give me an update?”

“No problem-o boss-man.”  A loud band echoed down the hallway.  “Either the roof just caved in or our first contestants are arriving.  Thanks for the pep talk, I still wish you were here, and I’ll talk to you later!”

She hurried towards the back door, which had been propped open.  Oz stood in the hallway, directing a knot of ragged looking young men and their gear.  “Buffy here can show you where to go.”

“You guys are…?” she asked.

“Cranium Isolation.”

“Great!  Follow me.”

 

*******

 

The buzzing in the club dropped several decibels when Spike took the stage and stepped up to the microphone.

“Welcome to the opening night of the Bronze’s Battle of the Bands!”  He waited for the cheers and whoops to die down before he continued.  Buffy tuned him out as he welcomed the crowd then described the contest format, introduced the judges, and explained how audience participation influenced the results.  Instead of his words, she paid attention to the reactions of the people listening to them, noting which parts of the spiel needed tweaking in order to keep the interest of the crowd.  A small group of well-dressed men and women she’d never seen before caught her eye, and she made a mental note to speak with them before the evening was through, guessing they were from either a record label or a promotions company.

“And here’s our host for the evening, the sexy lead singer of Shy, Veruca!”  Veruca took the mike from Spike’s hand with a seductive smirk, trailing a finger up his arm as she did so, and Buffy bit back a growl.  It was only the woman’s stage personality – not that it made Buffy feel any less possessive, especially when Spike reacted in kind.

“It’s all an act,” she chanted to herself, though she headed straight for the stage and her boyfriend.  She grabbed Spike’s hand as he descended the side stairs and whisked him away from the crowd of cooing girls to her office.

“Don’t you need to-”

Buffy shut her door then backed him into it, lips claiming his and silencing his question.  When they broke for air she said, “Yes I do.  But I had something more important to take care of first.”  Spike’s hands slipped down over the curve of her buttocks, drawing her closer, and Buffy wriggled against him.

“Feeling possessive, were we, pet?”

“Uh-huh.  I don’t share.  And don’t you forget it.”

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a more tender embrace.  “Never.  I’d be the biggest fool ever to even think of touching another woman, Buffy.  Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

“I just like to be reminded.”  They shared a soft kiss, then made their way back to oversee the contest.

 

*******

 

On the third night, it was the Dingoes turn to host.  The Troll acted as emcee, introducing the pair of contestants for the evening and announcing the judge’s results after.  When the competitors cleared the stage, the Dingoes set up for the rest of the night.

Again, the Troll took the mike.  “All you Dingo fans out there might have noticed a change in our lineup tonight.  Our lead singer, Devon, was in an accident a few weeks back.”  There was a chorus of exclamations from the audience.  “He’s going to be just fine, and he’ll be back and performing with us in a few weeks time.  But until then, our club manager for the Bronze has agreed to fill in for Devon.  Give it up for Spike!”  Loud cheers filled the club as Spike took the stage with a swagger, most of them coming from the female half of the crowd.  Buffy watched him from the wings, admiring the way his faded jeans showcased his ass as he saluted those gathered on the floor below. 

Spike took the mike from the Troll, thanked the audience, then turned to face her.  She sucked in a breath, dazed by how sexy he looked under the lights with his near-white spiked hair and black-rimmed blue eyes, the lighting throwing his sharp cheekbones into prominence.  A thick silver chain hung about his neck, drawing her attention to his Adam’s apple and, from there, the set of his jaw, then to lips she knew to be as soft and sinful as they looked.

She licked her own in reaction.

_Gorgeous.  And mine._

“Even better, ladies and gents – our very own Buffy is with us tonight!”

The entire audience burst into excited screams, and Buffy couldn’t help but blush when Spike threw her a wink.  Without preamble, the band swung into ‘Hither’, and she slowed her quick entrance to a predatory slink, working the tension between them while Spike growled out the opening lyrics over the screaming throng.  Just like they’d practiced, Buffy wrapped her hand over his and pumped the microphone suggestively as she drew it to her mouth, eyes locked on his.  The lust in his eyes was palpable, but behind it lurked a passion far more intense; not just lust, but _love_ , burning bright for all the world to see.

Right there, in front of a writhing, screaming mass of people, Buffy realized something.  Spike Pratt played at being sexy bad boy, but underneath he was all proverbial heart of gold – and she was well on her way to falling in love with him.  The sounds of the crowd fell away as she looked into his eyes, and she forgot they were performing for others, instead singing only for Spike, letting him see her true feelings.  His head tipped slightly, just enough that only she could read the question there.  She smiled at him in response, and added a slow wink for good measure.

Spike’s eyes widened and he almost lost the beat.  With a visible gulp he refocused, twisting to face the floor and sliding back into his rhythm, making it Buffy’s turn to swallow as his hips began a slow roll that confirmed a decision she’d only just come to.

She was going home with him. 

Maybe not tonight, but very, very soon.

 

*******

 

“You know what I like about you?”

“What’s that, love?”  He was driving Buffy home post-show, still high on the rush of performing with his girl for the first time.  The look she’d given him during ‘Hither’ had set him aflame, heart stuttering in his chest as he’d realized what it meant.  But it was the way she’d sung the second duet with him, covert glances letting him know the tender words she sang rang true for her, which had him floating on cloud nine and grinning like a lovesick prat.

Buffy twined her fingers with his.  “I like how you’re so upfront about everything.  I feel like… I dunno.  I guess this sounds stupid, but…  I feel like I _know_ you.”  Spike darted a glance at her.  “Guess you probably know honesty is a big deal for me.”

And there went the floating feeling. 

“Yeah.  I do know.”  Spike had been trying to decide for weeks now how to let Buffy in on his real identity without reigniting her long-seated disgust with him.  He knew he had to do it, and the sooner the better, but the more he put it off – well, everybody knows how that story goes. 

The harder it was.

Best if he’d done it years ago, but too bloody late for that.

They made the rest of the drive in silence, Buffy not noticing his change in mood, and soon they’d parked outside her house.  “I love you, Buffy.”  It was the first time he’d said the actual words, but he couldn’t hold them back now, not when he needed her to understand the depths of his emotions.  “You’re not some passing fancy.  This – what I’ve felt – even if I haven’t always been worthy of your attention – the feeling is pure and true.  I want you to know that.”

She leaned forward to cup his face and kissed him sweetly.  Spike laid his hand overtop hers, holding it there, skin against skin, her warmth and softness soothing the turmoil inside the same as it always did.

“I do know it, Spike.  I see it in the way you treat me, every day.”

“You’ll remember?” he said.  “’Cause there are things I’ve done… things you’ve yet to learn about me that I’m not proud of.  And I don’t want you to hate me when you do.”

She sat back to search his face.  “Like… jail-worthy things?”

“No, not that,” he rushed out, then winced.  “Well, yeah, but only little things.  Brawling, public intoxication.  No actual skeletons in the closet, if that’s what you’re asking.  It’s more… bad decisions I’ve made.  All my fuck-ups.”

Buffy kissed him again.  “Then tell me when you’re ready.  ‘Cause this man right here, in front of me now?  I’m pretty sure he’s a good man.  And he’s the real you.  There’s not much he could do to scare me off.”

_Not much_.

_Honesty is a big deal for me_.

Spike wanted to tell her the truth.  He did.  He wanted to be able to be himself with her.  He knew Buffy wouldn’t reject the real him, or wouldn’t have if he’d been honest from the start.  But… telling her he was William meant telling her he’d lied to her.  Repeatedly.  Spike figured his confession would be one of the things that fell into the ‘not much’ category.

 

*******

 

He was still working up the courage to reveal his true identity three days later, when it was the Dingoes turn to emcee the contest Saturday night.  Buffy had taken affectionate to a whole new level in the last few days, and Spike couldn’t bring himself to ruin what would have been, if not for the niggling guilt, perfect contentment with his current life.  When the show ended and they’d shut the club up, Buffy slid into his embrace, wrapping her arms about his waist and laying her head upon his chest.

“You remember that thing you told me the other night?”

He thought back, trying to remember anything significant he had said.  “I love you?”

“That’s the one.  I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”  He tightened his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, too overcome to say anything.  Buffy snuggled deeper into his embrace.  “Take me home tonight?”

“Do every night, love.”

“No.”  She raised her head to look into his eyes.  “Take me _home_ tonight.”

Spike’s heart raced even faster, anticipation warring with guilt.  He hadn’t told her yet, and how betrayed would she feel if he confessed _after_ they’d made love?  Would she think he’d kept it a secret only to get into her pants?  And if he was honest with himself, wasn’t that part of the reason he hadn’t told her yet?  Spike was certain she’d reject him once she found out he was William after all.  At the very least, it would set their relationship back a good ways.  He didn’t want that.  He wanted to hold on to this peace and happiness while he could.  He wanted to know Buffy’s love.  In case it was the only chance he got, before it all came crashing down on him.

The wiser part of him knew holding out would only make it worse.  He _had_ to tell her.  Soon.  Mind made up, Spike said, “Are you sure?  It’s late, and it’s a big step, and…”  He trailed off, feeling like the wanker he was when her lower lip wobbled.

“You don’t want to?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.  I just want to make sure you’re ready,” he backpedalled.  The hurt on Buffy’s face at having been rebuffed after what was a gutsy move for her made him feel even worse.

“Spike.  I want to be with you.  I don’t care if all we do is collapse into your bed in an exhausted heap.  I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to be apart from you tonight.  I want to go to sleep in your arms, and wake up the same way.”  With a shy smile, she pressed closer to him.  “And if something else were to happen in between, I wouldn’t mind that either.”

How could he say no?  He couldn’t.  Sleeping together – without _sleeping_ together – that would be all right.  And maybe when he woke, he’d have a sodding plan for how to come clean.

They rode to his flat in quiet anticipation, all his nerve endings screaming for her touch.  Spike opened the front door and gestured Buffy inside with an anxious smile.  She stood waiting in the living room while he secured the locks, picking at her nail polish then staring at him when he came to stand before her.

Spike broke the silence.  “We straight for bed or…?”

“It’s late, I guess.  But I’m still all wound up.”

“You want to watch the telly for a bit?  Talked Rupes into getting cable, so there ought to be some old movie on, at the very least.”

Buffy tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at the floor.  “Okay.  Is there…  I didn’t really plan this out.  I was all spur-of-the-moment girl, which is fun and romantic, but not so great for oral hygiene.  Do you have a toothbrush?  And maybe something I could wear to bed?”

“Oh, right.  Guess that’s not sleepwear.”  He eyed her outfit.  More like get a bloke revved-up wear, what with the black leather pants and clingy emerald green halter top, and _bollocks_ , now he was imagining helping her out of her clothes.  And how did Buffy get those pants on in the first place?  Spike shook his head to clear it – this was not the direction he needed his thoughts headed in.  _Keeping it family-friendly for the night_ , he reminded himself, and made his way to his room with her trailing behind.  “Would a t-shirt do?  Could prolly rustle up a pair of sweats or boxers or some such too.” 

He handed her one of his few loose-fitting tees, figuring it would be a bit more nightgown-ish on her than his usual wear, which would mold to her curves far too closely for his peace of mind.  Not that seeing Buffy wearing anything of his wouldn’t be a major turn-on.  A moment later Spike rummaged up a pair of boxer shorts.  “These’d be clean – brand new, actually.  Don’t have much use for them.”

“I noticed.” 

“Oh.  Right.”  Spike guessed she had picked up on his habit of going commando in the last few days.  He held the shorts out and she took them, fingers brushing against his. 

She caught his hand and guided it to her hip.  “Or do I need a change of clothes at all?”

_Focus.  The Queen Mum in all her glory._  

Not good enough.

_Heaps of guilt.  Buffy hating you ‘til the end of time._  

That did the trick.

“Why don’t we get comfortable first, then see where the night takes us?”  Spike breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded, and dashed off to find a spare toothbrush before he could change his mind.

A half hour later she was curled up by his side while something droned unwatched on the flickering screen, long eyelashes fluttering shut then popping back open seconds later.  Spike didn’t have a clue what program was on; he’d been concentrating on her the entire time.  Buffy had first chattered about the semifinals that had take place earlier at the Bronze, then quieted down as the night wore on, her breath becoming more rhythmic as exhaustion overtook her.

Spike turned the telly off.  He slipped out from under Buffy and scooped her up, her borrowed t-shirt riding up her thighs.  He focused on her sleepy face instead of the tempting golden flesh. 

“Wha…?”

“Sandman’s come for you, pet.  Let’s get you all cozy for the night.”

Buffy yawned and linked her arms around his neck as he carried her to his bedroom.  “Staying with me, right?”

“’Course.”  He pulled back the covers.  “These arms are yours all night long, as requested.  And no worrying about getting up tomorrow; it’s Sunday and we can sleep as late as we want.”

“Sounds perfect,” she mumbled.  “Sleep good.  Safe with you.”

Spike smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.  The sounds of her delicate snores washed over him as he tugged the covers around himself and settled down to sleep, arms wrapped around his girl.

Perfect indeed.

 


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Buffy woke to blue, blue eyes gazing into hers.  It took her a moment to gather her wits, and she stared back, putting the pieces together.  Spike lay stretched out next to her, shirtless, head propped up on his crooked arm.  His other hand lay across her stomach, thumb tracing gentle patterns just above her covered navel. 

“Morning, beautiful.”

She blinked back to full awareness.  No wonder she was disoriented – she’d never woken up next a man before. 

And certainly not one this sexy.

She stretched sleepily, a contented smile curling her lips as her eyes closed again.  Buffy snuggled into Spike, happy to just _be_ with her boyfriend for a little while.  They’d been so busy this last week, her ‘no nookie in the workplace’ rule had been unnecessary;  they’d barely had time to talk to each other, never mind more.  After a few minutes, she cracked one eye open and peeked up at Spike’s face.  He was still watching her, his expression adoring, and her smile widened.  “Morning, you,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.  “Now this is a way to start the day.  I could get used to this.”  Her stomach rumbled.  “Especially if there’s food in the very near future.  Does the sexy, snuggly man make breakfast too?  ‘Cause if you do, I’m never letting you go.”

“Well then.  How d’you like your eggs, milady?” 

Spike made to get up, and she tugged him back to her side.  “With a side of kissage, first.” 

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he lowered his head to capture her lips.  Buffy sighed into his mouth.  Spike rolled to cover her body with his, the gentle weight of him feeling just right stretched out atop her, slim hips settling between her thighs.  Something hard and insistent pressed into her, and she opened her legs wider, welcoming the sensation.  Spike’s body fit perfectly against hers, and she wanted to feel more of him.  _Now_.

Buffy traced the muscles of his back and twined her lower legs with his, her kisses growing more demanding.  He responded by rocking into her center while his fingers found and teased with one hardened nipple, releasing twin moans.  She slid her hands lower, followed his smooth, bare skin to the waistband of his cut-off sweats and then burrowed under, squeezing the taut flesh hidden from view.

“I want you inside of me, Spike,” she whispered.

“Fuck, yeah.”  He shoved her tee-shirt up, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze.  “You’re a goddess.  So beautiful.  Need you.”

“You – you – you too,” Buffy panted as he laved her, tongue rough and demanding.  She bent her leg to hook her foot in his waistband, and pushed his sweats lower with fingers and toes until his ass was exposed, the material in front trapped between their bodies.  Spike groaned around a nipple, sending a burst of pleasure straight to her womb.  “ _Now_ , baby,” she said.

Spike groaned again, and stilled his movements.  “Shit.  No…  I wanted… first…”  He rolled off of her, and Buffy panicked.

“What?  What is it?”

He ran a hand through his hair as he lay on his back, shuddering.  “I have to…”  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “Wanted everything taken care of first.”

“Huh?”

His eyes squeezed tighter and he want rigid.  “Buffy, I… _fuck_.”  She touched his chest with hesitant fingertips and he turned back on his side to look at her.  Some battle raged across his features, but Buffy had no idea what the source of his conflicting emotions was.  Spike took a hesitant breath, then said, “Wanted…”  He fell quiet.

“What?”

 He tried again.  “I was going to tell…  Dammit,” he muttered, shaking his head.  Looking away, Spike said in a strained voice, “Had this romantic plan in my head – you know – candles, flowers.  Wine and dine you properly.  Make our first time perfect.”

Buffy couldn’t fathom why it had been so hard for him to admit that, but it touched her deeply their first time mattered so much to him.  “Perfect?  How’s this –there’s you.  And there’s me.”  She reached out to turn his face back to her, then brushed her lips across his.  “In a big comfy bed.  Waking up together.  Couldn’t be more perfect if we tried.”

“But…”  She watched him force the words out, eyes shut once more.  “You don’t even know me.  Not really.”

“Hey.  Yes I do.  I might not know all the details, but I know _you_ , Spike.  Look at me.”  He did, blue eyes stormy.  “I’m falling head over heels for you.  This isn’t something I say lightly, buster.”

He hung his head.  “Couldn’t bear it if you hated me.  If you…”

“God, Spike, what is it?  What has you so worried?”

“I’ve made so many wrong bloody calls.  Been such a selfish, stupid ass.”

Buffy twisted to straddle his hips and bent to kiss him, her long, blonde hair curtaining them into their own private world as a suspicion formed about the source of his distress.  His drinking.  That painful night in her bathroom.  What if he had similar stories to tell?  If he did – it didn’t matter.  He wasn’t a bad man, just one who’d made mistakes.  And more importantly, had changed.  “Hey.  That’s over now.  Those days are gone.  You and me, here and now.  This is all that matters.”

Spike stared at her, wonder and guilt battling for dominance.  “I don’t deserve you.  But I’ll spend my every day trying, for the rest of my life.”

“I’m getting that.”  She settled lower, against his waning erection, and pulled her t-shirt over her head.  Grazing her nails down his chest, Buffy bent to kiss Spike once more, her kisses slow and languorous until she felt him harden beneath her.  Despite the abrupt change of tone from desperate and needy to sweet and slow, the air still crackled with desire.  He cupped her breasts, thumbs sweeping over her nipples in delicate strokes, and Buffy hummed her approval.  She swiveled so they were side-by-side and pulled off his sweats, then broke their kiss to drag her mouth down his chest, down to his bobbing erection.

She kissed the tip, and it strained towards her.  Spike cried out as she took him in her mouth, her movements delicate and steady.  “Love you, Buffy, so much,” he breathed, and she squeezed the base in response, keeping her motions leisurely.  When she’d reduced him to a twitchy, whimpering mess, she kissed her way back up his body, one hand pumping his length with the lightest of touches.

“Make love to me, Spike.”

“Yes.”  His eyes glowed with adulation, all traces of earlier conflict gone from his face.  Rolling her onto her back, he pinned her hands above her head with one of his and commenced his own slow torture with mouth and fingers.  He nibbled down her neck, then brought her nipples to hardened peaks, teasing them until she begged him to move on.  Spike wrapped her hands around the metal bars of his headboard and sat back on his haunches, gazing down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Gonna make you scream, now.”

“O-okay.”

“You keep those hands there, all right?  Or I stop.”  Buffy nodded, swallowing hard.  “That’s my girl.”  He curled his fingers under the waistband of her borrowed shorts and drew them downwards, then tangled them around her ankles so they were bound together.  Taking hold of her knees, he tugged her legs upwards until they were splayed apart, pussy exposed, legs crooked, ankles together in a variation of the butterfly position.  He used his knee to trap the bunched fabric of the boxers so she couldn’t straighten her legs.  Buffy shuddered in anticipation, but Spike seemed content to look at her, spread out beneath him, and she soon began to fidget, blushing.  Although he’d anchored her ankles to the mattress, she could raise her knees up and did, trying to close her legs, while her hands came down to cover her breasts.

Spike pinned her legs back open with a severe look.  “Hands up.” 

“But-”

He bent his mouth to her ear.  “Don’t worry, kitten.  I’ll take good care of you.  _Hands up_ ,” he repeated more gently.  She did as he asked, and god, the look he gave her, so filled with lust and promise, was almost enough to make her come then and there.  “Good girl.”  He smirked at her, and the tension in the air ratcheted up several notches.

Buffy moaned as he suckled his way down her body once more, her pleas becoming more desperate and ragged as Spike teased her curls, never making full contact with where she wanted him most.

“Pl-pl-please, Spike, please, I need-”

“You need this?”  One finger slid into her, its passage made easy by how wet she was.  Spike’s tongue probed her clit, and she sobbed in relief.  A second finger joined the first, and Buffy jerked.

“Now!  Need you now, Spike.”

“Soon, my love.”  His voice rumbled against her core, hot breath making her gasp.  He tormented her with fingers and tongue for long, torturous minutes, drew out her pleasure until she came with a wail, hands gripping the headboard while she screamed his name.  Buffy fell limp, arms collapsed above her head, barely aware as he freed her ankles.

Stretching out beside her, he stroked her hair and murmured sweet nothings into her ear.  Her head lolled to the side.  “Spike?”

“Yes, love.”

Her questing fingers found his cock, hard and ready and already covered by a condom.  She tugged his arm until he rolled on top of her.  “Now?”

“Yes, now,” he said, looking down into her eyes.  His cock slid in between her slippery folds, pulled out a fraction and then pushed farther in, over and over, inch by agonizingly unhurried inch as he gave her time to adjust.  Buffy quivered as he filled her, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through her body, until he’d filled her completely.

“ _Balls_ ,” Spike muttered, eyes shut tight.  “Not going to last long.” 

She cupped his cheek, overwhelmed by the tenderness she felt for this man.  “It’s okay.”

“I… just gotta …”  All Spike’s muscles tensed, tendons in his neck straining with the force of his effort to remain in control.  “Want to make it last,” he ground out.

“That’s what next time is for.  Come for me, baby.”  She rocked upwards and squeezed her walls as tightly as she could around him.

His eyes widened.  “Oh, _fuck._   God, you feel so bloody good.” 

Buffy agreed.  She felt _full_.  Between her months of abstinence and his size, the pleasure of being stretched so far was just this side of painful, but in a good way.  She squeezed again.  “Spike.  It’s okay.  Let go for me.  All I want is to feel you inside of me.” 

“Yeah?”  His eyes searched hers.

She nodded.  “Yeah.”

When he still hesitated, Buffy arched into him, squeezing, encouraging him wordlessly.  He groaned, and gave in to his need, face buried in her neck and pelvis thrusting with abandon.  It was only a matter of seconds before he shouted her name in release, the throbbing of his cock triggering a fresh wave of pleasure that wasn’t quite orgasmic, but felt perfect all the same.

Spike collapsed bonelessly on top of her and she held him close, fingers gliding over his shoulders, amazed at how perfect and right he felt there.

Before long, he rolled them to their sides, and tossed the condom into the bedside trashcan before cuddling her close.  “I love you, Buffy.  So much.”

“I know.”  She felt the words bubbling up inside her, ready to be echoed back.  Love – she suspected she was in love too, and Buffy would have said it if she didn’t think it would appear as though she was repeating his words back to him in the heat of the moment.

“I can’t believe I – I’m such a prat.  I’ll make it better next time, promise.”

Buffy pinched his ass.  “Stop it.  I know you’ve got this whole sex god thing going on, but Spike, that was perfect already.  It was… well, besides being the best orgasm I’ve ever had – and I’m not saying that just to boost your ego – we made _love_.”  She fell silent, willing him to understand what she didn’t know how to put into words.

He leaned away so he could search her face.  “You were there?  With me?”

“I was.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Spike said, “God, I’m such a ponce.  All teary-eyed and emo.”

“And that may be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”  _What is there not to love about this man_?  She kissed his mouth, then his eyes as they fluttered shut, awed by the strength of her feelings and his.  They lay nestled together for long minutes, until Buffy’s stomach rumbled loudly.

Spike rubbed her belly.  “Breakfast now?”

Buffy thrust her lower lip out.  “But I don’t wanna get up.  Wanna stay cuddled with my Spike-shaped teddy bear.  He’s all warm and snuggly.  And he smells good.”  Her stomach growled again.  “Fine,” she said with a sigh, poking at her abdomen.  “You win.”  She smiled up at him.  “Feed me up, Billy.”

He started, and made a face.  “B- Billy?”

She winced.  “Like Idol?  I, uh, used to call you Billy Idol.  Which is kinda funny, since your name really is Bill.”

“Hysterical.”  Spike gave her a pained smile and hurried off.  Buffy frowned after him, wondering why calling him Billy had disturbed him so.  _Guess he really doesn’t like to be called Bill_ , she thought, and rolled out of bed to go shower.

 

*******

 

Spike stood at the stove frying eggs, shoulders tense as he tried to sort his way out of the dilemma he’d created for himself.  He’d meant to come clean before he’d touched the girl, but he hadn’t.  He was weak.  Selfish.  He wanted to keep Buffy’s love, not lose it.

There’d been no possibility of resisting temptation this morning.  Spike defied any man to resist her when she looked at them that way, big green eyes filled with desire and, more importantly, acceptance.  Trust.  Love.  He’d dreamt of her for so long, fantasized about making love to her night after lonely night.  How could he have said no?

He was a bad, bad man.

He’d fix it though.  Right away, during breakfast.  Or lunch, he amended with a glance at the clock.  _Late_ lunch.

Seated across the table from a freshly showered Buffy ten minutes later, Spike screwed his courage to the sticking point.  “Earlier, I wanted to tell you something – something you might not be happy about.  And I, uh, was a coward.  Couldn’t do it.”  He glanced up from his plate to see how she was taking it.

Buffy’s brows drew together in confusion, but she didn’t seem angry.  Yet.  “So tell me.”

Right.  Tell her.  He was going to do it, right away.  “I kept a secret from you.  About – us.”  There, he had to confess now.

Except her frown deepened, and he watched her emotions play out across her face – the flash of betrayal he so dreaded seeing, followed by her closing herself off.  Against the pain she thought would follow.

Against him. 

And he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“That song you thought Oz wrote about Willow,” he said in a rush.  “‘Yours Alone’.  _I_ wrote it.  For you.  For us.”  

_Stupid, useless coward_.

“Oh.”  She blinked.  “That’s not really what I expected to hear.  But… why didn’t you tell me?  I mean, we talked about it.  I’m sure we did.”

Her pinched features betrayed the hurt she felt, and Spike berated himself for putting it there.  This was the practice round, then.  If he could make her understand, make her see how petrified he’d been of her rejection, maybe he could lead into the real confession.

“You hated me so much,” he said.  “For so long.  Which was mostly my fault, I admit.  But every day, you made it clear I wasn’t good enough for you.  And even when things changed, when it looked like we could be friends – or more – I never dared to hope you might feel even a fraction of how I felt for you.”

She didn’t pull away when he took her hand, so continued, encouraged.  “I was terrified, Buffy.  Terrified you would reject me.  Laugh at me and tell me I was a fool.  And then, the longer I waited to tell you the truth, the harder it became.  The guilt snowballed and snowballed until it ate me up inside, and I didn’t even know how to begin, how to win back your trust.”

“Dramatic much?" she asked, scowling.  "You don’t have to lay it on so thick.”

Spike cursed under his breath, realizing he’d jumped threads and she had no clue what he was on about.  “Sorry for the drama queen bit.  Nervous, you know?  But… the part about being terrified is all too true.”

Buffy took her hand back and pushed her eggs around her plate in silence, working things out inside her head, he presumed.  After a long while, during which Spike forced himself to keep quiet, she spoke.  “I have this thing about being lied to, even over stupid stuff.  It turns me into irrational, hate-you-forever-Buffy.  Because this is how it goes with men.  First there’s the cheating, and then there’s the lying, and then there’s the broken hearts and empty bank accounts and shattered dreams, and all of this leads nowhere good.  So on the one hand, the reaction I’m having in my head right now, reasonable or not, is ‘Oh good, another cheating-lying-heart-breaking-scumbag’.  On the other hand, I totally understand where you’re coming from.  It’s really not that big a deal, and if I were a sane person, I’d already be over it.  Plus, bonus points for ‘fessing up all on your own.”

“So this means…?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“It means I’m glad you told me.  Thank you.”  She drummed her fingers on the table.  “Anything else while we’re at it?  About us specifically?  Share your other skeletons when you’re ready, but let’s air out anything else between us now.”

There it was, the perfect opening.  Spike could see it all play out in his head.  He would remind her of how he’d been drawn to her from the start, but she’d been with Angel.  Explain that he’d behaved like an ass to protect his heart, then realized his mistake and not known how to take it back.  Make her understand how fucked up he’d been when he’d returned, and full of bad decisions which had only compounded as time went on.  Then he’d fall to his knees before her and say, “ _My name is William_.”  “ _Of course it is, I already worked that out on my own when you told me your name was Bill_ ,” she would reply, and he’d say again, “ _No, love.  I’m William_.”  There would be shock on her face, and denial, and he would hurry to explain.“ _But I pretended not to be out of fear, fool that I am, and I’ve only dug my grave since.  Please.  Forgive me._ ”  Understanding would set in, and he’d hang his head and await her judgment.  And no matter how she decided, the secret would be out there. 

It would be a relief to be able to be himself, stop concealing who he was from her.  If the urge to spout poetry struck, he could do so.  He could tell her about Dru, and his band – he could to tell her anything and everything.  No more hiding his true past, no more checking every detail before he spoke.  Most importantly, he could to tell her what their first encounter had meant to him, how she’d given him strength to move on with no more than a touch and a smile.  And maybe – just maybe – he’d be lucky enough to experience the same again when it was all over.

Spike cleared his throat.  “I –”

The phone rang.  He sat frozen, uncomprehending of the interruption, until Buffy got up and handed it to him.

“Spike.  Is, um, Buffy there?” Joyce asked, voice loud enough that her daughter heard also.

Buffy darted a glance at the clock, eyes widening.  “Shit,” she said, grabbing the phone back.  “I’m sorry Mom, I totally forgot.  I can be there in – yes, I did spend the night here.  Um… Right.  I know…  Sorry?  See you in a minute.”  She hung up.

“She mad?  Should I expect an axe to the head for corrupting her daughter?”

“Um,” Buffy said, hurrying about the room and gathering her things.  “More upset I didn’t call.  Worrying about me dead in a ditch, that kind of thing.  The real issue is that I spaced taking her to the airport this afternoon.  I have so got to run.”

Spike jumped to his feet.  “That today?  How’d we forget?”

She paused to smile shyly at him.  “Think we were a little preoccupied with each other.  It’s a valid excuse, I say.  You mind if I keep these for now?”  She indicated the tee she’d pulled back on and the pair of sweats she'd found, waistband rolled to keep them up.

“’Course not – hey now, aren’t I going with you?” he said as she pecked him on the cheek and rushed to the door.  “Unless you’d rather I didn’t…”  The original plan had been for him to go with the Summers family and drive the girls back from LAX, but considering the conversation they’d just had, maybe she needed time away from him.  He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and tried not to imagine this moment as the beginning of the end.

“Oh!  I guess I figured you might not want to, since it’s all rush rush rush now.  I should have asked.  Do you still-”

“Only if you-”

Buffy stood before him, fingers twined around his.  “Yes.”  She leaned forward for a kiss.

“Well, all right then.”

 

*******

 

Back in Sunnydale once more, Buffy stretched as they got out of the car at her house, working the kinks out of her neck.  “I cannot tell you how happy I am we don’t have to go to work tonight.  Closing the club on Sundays while the contest is running was a great idea.”

“Figured the staff needed a break, what with all the extra work they’ve had.  Never mind us.  We need a night off too.”  Inside the house, once Dawn was out of earshot, he said, “Any chance you’ll spend the night again?  I’ve the flat to myself for ten more days, and I thought we might take advantage of it.” 

Buffy concealed her amusement as he tried to hide his hopeful tone.  She’d already had the same thought, but she decided to tease him first.  “Dawn…”

“Is a grown woman, love.  Probably be right thrilled to be all alone here.”

“Hey now, don’t put worries of Dawn throwing wild parties and getting up to other shenanigans in my head.”  She gave him a coy look.  “You sure you want me around that much?  You might get sick of me.”

“Then you clearly don’t know me at all.  Go on,” he said with a smack to her backside.  “Pack a bag, get your things.  We’ll do the responsible parent bit first, and then.”  His voice dropped to a silken whisper.  “I intend to ravage you.  All.  Night.  Long.”

Buffy’s knees grew week.  “When you put it that way…  Okay.”

 

*******

 

“What do you think Giles will do when Mom gets there?” Buffy asked in the car, on the way back to his place.  “Think he’s got something special planned?”

He thought for a moment.  “If I know my uncle, yes.  Imagine he’ll have flowers, and he’ll have booked an evening at one of those quaint little B&B’s somewhere quiet, so your mum can rest up from the flight.”

“One room or two?”

“Two.  He wouldn’t want to be presumptuous.  But they’ll be adjoining rooms, just in case.”

“So that’s it, flowers and sleep?”

“Well, he’ll be hoping for more, but he won’t push.  He’ll let her set the pace.  There’ll be dinner, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Someplace intimate.  Romantic.  Very posh.  And after, if it’s not too late, a carriage ride.  Or maybe a moonlit walk.”

“Oh.  That’s nice.”

“Once the evening out is winding down, he might offer to rub her feet.  They’ll probably be all swollen after the long flight.”

“And it’s a good way to feel out if she’s interested in more.”

“Is she?”

“Well of course.  It’s been months and months.  Did he greet her with a kiss when she got there?”

“One of those namby-pamby friend kisses.  But he did take her hand during dinner.”

“Then the foot rub will be just that.  There might be some cuddling.  And a real kiss before they head off to their solo beds.”

“The next day, though.  It’ll be something else.  He’ll dazzle her with his dry wit.  He’ll serenade her, and read her poetry.  He’ll lavish her with all the attention he’s had to withhold for so long, until she falls into his arms and everything is sunshine and daisies, happy ever after.”

“I like this plan.  Very romantic.”

“Well, we’re romantic fellows, we are.  Runs in the family, you know.”

“I can tell.  And a weakness for sexy, romantic British guys seems to run in mine.”

“Works out well then, doesn’t it?”

Spike smiled to himself when Buffy sighed in agreement.  Now, if he could only work up the courage he needed to tell her the truth for a second time.

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

Buffy puttered around the kitchen, getting breakfast ready – hey, cereal was breakfast – and humming to herself.  Spike had made good on his promise of all night long, and she was pleasantly achy in places that had never ached before.  She smiled, thinking of how proud he’d been of himself when they’d gone a fifth time in as many hours.  He’d taken his inability to hold out their first time together as a challenge to prove that he did indeed deserve the title of Sex God, and he’d earned his title back in spades.  The man was going to be smug and insufferable at work today, crowing about his prowess to her every chance he got. 

It was going to be adorable.

Okay, yes.  She had it bad.  She was officially at the stage where everything her previously irritating boyfriend did was charming perfection.  The feeling was probably helped along by the fact that he’d just given her more orgasms in the last twelve hours than Angel had their entire relationship.  Sex god, indeed.

Glancing at the breakfast table, Buffy froze momentarily as she remembered the afternoon before, when Spike had confessed to lying to her.  She’d forgiven him – or was trying to – recognizing that it was a minor thing and his own conscience had caused him to speak up.  Forgetting was harder, though.  If he’d lied about one thing, could there be others, more important?

She’d given him the chance to admit to anything else, and he hadn’t said a word.  Hadn’t said anything since, either.  So that must have been the only incident weighing on his conscience – right?

Except then the phone had rung, and they’d been kind of busy since… 

Buffy shoved her fears down into a tiny little box, and locked it shut.  Just because she’d dated a grand total of two men, both of whom had turned out to be lying, cheating, game-playing scum (never mind Daddy dearest), it didn’t mean Spike was too.  Even if he did have something else to tell her, she was betting it would be equally unimportant.  And he would tell her on his own soon enough.  She’d seen plenty of evidence of how developed his conscience was.  Buffy wanted to reward Spike’s honesty with trust in him, not suspicion, and that meant she wouldn’t into a nagging, insecure girlfriend who always questioned him.  So, no.  She wouldn’t bring the topic up again.

Setting the cereal and juice on Giles’ tea tray, Buffy headed for the bedroom.  She perched on the edge of the bed and ran a hand along the arm over his eyes.  “Spike, time to wake up.  We have to go to work.”

“Gdfrhuh.”

“My poor baby.  Did I wear you out last night?”

He mumbled something equally incoherent in reply.  Within seconds, he was out again.  Buffy pursed her lips, then gave him a soft kiss to the forehead and took the food back to the kitchen.  After eating her own breakfast, she left him a note and started for work on foot, letting him sleep.

Buffy was passing by Spike’s office when his phone rang, and after a moment’s hesitation, she answered it.  Her office had its own line, so she usually only dealt with calls relating to her job, not general club business.  But since Spike wasn’t here…

“Is William Pratt available?”

Brow furrowed in confusion, Buffy said, “Who now?”

“William Pratt.  Is this not his place of employment?”

All of a sudden, it clicked.  “Oh.  _Oh_.  Yes, it is.  He’s not available right now, can I take a message?”

“Yes, please have him call…” 

Buffy copied the message down and left it where he would see it, then returned to her own office, frowning.  How had she not put this together before?  Of _course_ Bill was short for William.  She was so used to thinking of him as Spike, she hadn’t given much thought to his legal name beyond finding it funny he had yet one more thing in common with Billy Idol.  But…  Spike’s name being _William_?  Was too big a coincidence to ignore.  She sat at her desk, fingers to her temples as she tried to work through this new information.  She knew they said there was a doppelganger for everyone, but one with the exact same name?  The memory of Giles accidentally calling Spike ‘William’ after his heart attack rose to the surface, and Buffy scowled.  Why had they both pretended it was a mistake?

 _Except he said he went by Bill, not William…_   And what reason would Spike have to lie to her?  Or Giles, for that matter?  Her scowl deepened as she recalled the first time they’d met, when she’d waitressed for a night.  She’d called him William, and he’d acted as though that wasn’t his name.  Okay, _Bill_ not William, and he told her he’d gone by Spike for years and years, so long that he barely recognized his own name, but still.  It was worrisome.  Again, Buffy returned to the same thought. 

What reason would he have to lie to her?

Except he’d already lied to her.  At least once.

She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to call William’s visage to mind.  It swam up, startlingly familiar.  But was that his face, or had she melded him with Spike?  Did William really have the same heavy brows and jut to his chin that Spike did?  It was hard to say.  Three years later, it was difficult to recall all the fine details, especially of a stranger she’d only known for a few minutes.

It had to be a fluke, nothing more.  Buffy hugged herself, confused and unsure.  She could ask Spike outright… but how many times had she probed to see if he was William and then been disappointed to realize he couldn’t be?

And if he was… if he’d been lying to her all this time…  It didn’t bear thinking about.

Coincidence, she reassured herself.  Buffy forced it out of her mind and got back to work.

 

*******

 

The shrill ringing of the phone pulled Spike from his slumber, and he stumbled to his dresser.  “’Lo?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Spike, mate,” Charlie said.  “How you been?”

He yawned.  “Just waking.  How are you?”

They chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes, catching up, and then Charlie said, “Danny’s turned in his resignation, so to speak.  His wife’s up the duff, doesn’t want him working nights once the baby comes.  So we’ll be needing a lead singer come a few months.”

Spike didn’t reply, stunned. 

“Hallo?  Spike?  You there, mate?”

“Just processing.  That’s a load to drop on a fellow when he’s had a long night.”

“Erm.  You’re not back on the sauce, are you?”

“No, no.  Just, uh.  Me and my girl.”

Charlie laughed.  “Say no more.  About that, at any rate.  We want you back, though.  Long as you still have all your shit together.  It hasn’t been the same without you.”

Spike fell quiet again.  A second chance at his dream – well one of his dreams.  The one that was on a separate continent from Buffy, and how could he choose _anything_ over her? 

Bollocks.  He couldn’t. 

“How long?” he said.  “’Til you need to know?  ‘Cause things are good here, and to be honest, I’m going to have to give it some thought.  It’s not the no-brainer it would’ve been even a few weeks ago.”

“The chit’s that special, huh?”

“She’s the one, Charlie.  The _One_.  The one it’s always been about.”

“You mean that girl?  The waitress?”

He’d told Charlie about Buffy one night after Dru had left him and he was deep in his cups, admitting to how he’d fallen for the girl who’d waitressed their table the first time he’d travelled to America.  “She’s not a waitress, she’s the P.R. girl.  She’s… fuck, she’s _everything_.”

“And she likes you back now, does she?” Charlie said skeptically.

“Sure seems like.”

“Good on you!  Though not so great for us, not if it means Edge of Insanity loses you to her.  We’ve three or four months, though, so… give it some thought.”

“I will,” Spike said.  “I will.”

 

*******

 

“Devon!”  Buffy gave him a careful hug.  “I’m so glad you came today.  How are you feeling?”

“A whole lot better than I did.”

“You up to singing?” Spike asked, voice bland, but Buffy caught the note of dismay in it.  Once Devon started singing again, it meant Spike was out.  Back to being just the club manager.  He’d been having fun playing at rock star, probably reliving his days in a band, and she knew he didn’t want it to end.

“Just a song or two,” Devon said.  “Have to start practicing again.  I want to…  Oz said there have been persons of importance here, with the contest going on.”

Spike nodded.  “Yeah.  You need to show your stuff while they’re around.  They see you and Buffy sing together, it’s almost guaranteed somebody will be interested in picking the Dingoes up.”  He turned to Oz and Sam.  “Help me bring one of those big comfy chairs up on stage.  Devon’ll have an easier time of it in one of those, I reckon.  No reason he can’t sing from a chair when you perform.”

Buffy blinked back tears.  Her boyfriend was making it easier for Devon to replace him, doing what was best for the band even though it meant cutting his own time short.  She wasn’t surprised, but still.  Amazing.  Most guys, at least if they were anything like Devon, would have done whatever they could to hold on tight to their place in a band this popular.  Spike…

Spike was a man she could love. 

 

*******

 

“I’m going to miss this,” his girl said post-show the next night, when the club had emptied and they finally had a moment to themselves.  “Am I a bad person for wishing Devon’s recovery would have taken longer?”

“Know how you feel,” he answered.  Devon had joined them on stage that night, singing the opening song from the comfort of his chair before letting Spike take over, and it signaled the end of Spike’s career as a Dingo.  He was going to miss singing with Buffy, no doubt about it.  “Thought about killing the blighter, making it look like a painful accident.  Got this damn conscience, though, wouldn’t let me go through with it.”  Buffy laughed, and he continued.  “It’ll be good though.  For you lot as a band.  The Bronze is fair crawling with record execs and talent scouts and such right now.”  He fell silent for a moment, then mused, “We’re going to want to work on stage presence with Devon.  Coach him on toning down his not-so-inner spoiled brat, ‘cause nobody wants to deal with that.  Talent is nice, but all the rest of it counts more.  Attitude and image.  Going to want to update your merchandise too, get your pretty face on all of it, and record a new CD as soon as possible.  That’s where you’ll see the real money, maybe enough the others can quit their day jobs.” 

Buffy raised an eyebrow.  “Since when did you become the expert?”

He shrugged.  “Bits and pieces I’ve picked up over the years.  Been reading up on it since I sobered up, too.  Curious, you know, about what it takes to make it big.”  He handed her the pint of ice cream he’d pulled from the back freezer, then plopped down beside her, legs dangling over the edge of the stage.  “Even though it means you’d be rich and famous and have no time for the likes of me, I still want to see the Dingoes succeed.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Silly.  I’d always have time for you.  Hey, maybe you could be our manager!  Since you know so much about it.”

“Maybe.”  Better than being left behind, he supposed, though the idea of always watching, never singing, didn’t sit well with him.  “Oh, and you and Devon need to start harmonizing with each other on more songs.”

“That’s been the rest of the band’s feeling for some time.”

“Yeah.  All part of killing Devon’s prima donna act.”

They sat in silence, Buffy alternating between feeding him a bite off her spoon and then taking one herself.  As they neared the bottom of the container, she said, “I’m going to miss having an apartment all to ourselves too.  I know it’s only been three days, but…  It’s been three really _nice_ days.”

Spike leaned in to kiss her, savoring they way her tongue, cold and chocolate-y, warmed as they kissed.  Nice didn’t begin to cover it.  He didn’t feature Buffy spending the night once his uncle returned, and they were in the same boat at her house with Dawn and her mum.  Which left only one option.  He’d have to get his own flat, and quickly.  He was already addicted to waking up to a warm and amorous Buffy in the mornings, and he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep properly without her once Rupert returned. 

Speaking of…

“Ready to fly, pidge?  Think I hear a nice, comfy bed calling our name.”

She offered him a last bite of her ice cream, then finished it off.  “Yup.  Let’s go.”  She pressed herself against his arm and whispered into his ear.  “I wanna take you home, tie you up, and fuck your brains out.  All.  Night.  Long.”

Spike leapt to his feet and hurried towards the door. 

No need to tell him twice.

 

*******

 

Buffy stood in the crowd and watched her boyfriend own the stage.  They were halfway through the Battle of the Bands now – two weeks down, and two more to go.  Even though she’d planned and worked at this contest for months and months, she still couldn’t help but be surprised at how successful it had been so far.  Nothing major had gone wrong, there were few complaints, and the Bronze was packed every single night, even the usually empty Tuesday and Wednesday nights.  She allowed herself a moment of pride, which segued into something larger as she realized she had not only a guaranteed ‘A’ on her project, but also a kick-ass job and a gorgeous, incredible boyfriend.  Life was beyond good.

She stomped and cheered along with the audience when the song drew to a close, and waited with anticipation for the next one to start.  It was something new, something Spike had written, and she was anxious to see how the fans liked it.  Buffy smiled to herself when his sexy growl rang out, making the women around her gasp.  She pushed her way forward until she stood beneath the stage, where she writhed to the beat along with the crush of humanity around her, gaze trained upon his face.  He’d closed his eyes, and his corded arms shone with sweat, making them gleam under the hot lights.  A bead of perspiration ran down his temple.  Buffy had to restrain herself from climbing the stage to lick it off like a crazed groupie. 

Spike opened his eyes and saw her, his lips curving into a genuine smile for an instant.  He blew a kiss her way before he turned his attention back to the crowd at large, leaving her as giddy as any fan girl.  The song came to a rip-roaring finish, and as the screams of approval died out, he crouched at the front of the stage and reached down to caress her cheek.  Buffy beamed at him, fingers twined with his, thrilled when he ignored the women grasping at his arm to give her his full attention.  “I love you,” he mouthed, then bounded back to the mike.  She stared after him, eyes shining, breathless.

When the Dingoes struck up their next piece, Buffy turned away and worked her way to the bar for a soda.  She never made it.  A large and familiar-feeling hand on her arm halted her progress.  Turning, she readied a casual brush-off, the kind she so often had to employ on nights when she sang, and paused, dumbstruck.

“Hello, Buffy.  How have you been?”

Angel stood before her, larger than life, as handsome as ever.  Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.  He smiled at her, and she found her voice.  “What are you doing?  And _here_?”

He winced.  “I see I’m still in the doghouse.”  She made to retort, and his hands shot up in a placating gesture.  “It’s okay, I’m not here to cause trouble.  We were in town for the weekend – saw the fliers, wanted to check it out.  And then you were here too…  I’ve been waiting all night for the chance to say hi.”

“You could have waited longer.  Another five years or so sounds about right.”

Angel reached forward to brush a lock of hair away from her face.  “Buffy, don’t.  I’m sorry, you know, about-”  She smacked his hand down.  “You sounded good up there,” he tried.

“I know.”

“Jesus.  I didn’t think you’d still be so pissed.”  She didn’t dignify that with a response, turning to walk away instead.  “But, what, your new boyfriend gets a free pass to screw around?” he called after her.

She spun back.  “Spike _isn’t_ unfaithful.  Unlike you.”

Angel laughed.  “You’re kidding me, right?”  When she didn’t reply, he raised his eyebrows.  “You’re not kidding.  Oh come on, Buff, you can’t be serious.  I’ve heard all about this guy’s exploits.  He puts anything I’ve done to shame.”

“That was in the past-”

“That was just last week, if the gossip floating around in here is to be believed.”

“Gossip-”

“Is always based in truth.”

Buffy’s mouth thinned.  “You’re jealous.  Angry.  Whatever.  I understand.  But don’t you go trying to cause trouble for me, Angel.  I’m not a stupid little girl anymore.”

“I’m not jealous – okay, I am.  A little bit.  But I still care about you, Buff.  Take it however you want, but it’s the truth.  You’re being played for a fool.  Hugh Grant there isn’t going to be faithful to you.”  He turned her gently so she faced the stage.  “Look at him.  Look at the attention he’s getting, how he’s eating it up.”

As if to prove his point, some tramp near the stage showed less restraint than she had earlier, a lacy black bra zinging upwards to smack Spike in the chest.  He leered down at the crowd, and spun the errant lingerie about his finger before he tucked it in his back pocket.  Buffy bristled, though she tried to hide it from Angel.  It was all just part of the show.  She had her fair share of attention when she sang.  Maybe she wasn’t pelted with undergarments, but there were catcalls and offers of devotion shouted her way whenever she was on stage, and she always smiled in the direction they’d come as long as they weren’t too raunchy.  Spike was doing the same. 

That was all.

She turned to face Angel, who smirked at her.  “It’s just part of the act,” she said, more to herself than him.

“Don’t fool yourself.  A leopard can’t change its spots.  Take it from somebody who knows.”

Buffy knew she should just walk away, but she didn’t.  “You’re wrong,” she insisted.  “Spike is a good man.”

Angel shrugged.  “He might be.  Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his flaws.  Look,” he said, voice growing more intense.  “I never…  I always meant to stop fooling around.  I swear to you I did.  But I couldn’t help it.  I would tell myself ‘just this once’ or ‘this is the last time’, and somehow I’d be doing it again the very next week.”

“This is what, an apology?”

“An explanation.  Too little, too late, I know.  And I’m not trying to win you back.  I’m well aware it will never happen.  But for some men, it’s an addiction.  It’s cost me before – lost me the woman I love – and you can bet it’s going to cost me again.”  Angel gave her a sad smile.  “I really do care about you, Buffy.  That hasn’t changed.  I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you needed.  But _please_.  Be careful with Spike.  He’s even less what you need.”

She took a step back.  “You may be weak, Angel, but not every man is you.  It was really nice catching up, in the sense that it wasn’t.  I have things to do now.” 

Buffy fled before he could say another word, sew any more seeds of doubt.  She didn’t believe him – _she didn’t_ – but she couldn’t help but worry at the same time.  If her past was anything to go by, her boyfriend was destined to crush her heart.

 

*******

 

Spike stared at the front door as it shut, bewildered.  Buffy had just rushed off, claiming she needed to help Dawn get the house spic and span before their mother returned home the next morning.  He rubbed the back of his neck, not in the least reassured by her chirpy, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”  Which meant she wasn’t planning to be back later – never mind spending the night.  He cast back over their day, but couldn’t remember anything he might have said to chase her off.  It had been a good morning, hadn’t it?  He’d assumed they would spend the entire day together, seeing as it was Sunday.  Apparently, he should have asked first.

Puttering about the flat, Spike tried to ignore the vague sense of worry that hovered over him, but it only intensified as he realized things had been off since the night before, after their performance.  Maybe Buffy had discovered his secret?  He shook his head.  If she had, there would have been fireworks, not the distance that seemed to have sprung up between them overnight.  He grabbed his guitar and tried to puzzle out her change in behavior.  He was disappointed she’d run out on him, but a little relieved as well.  They’d been so busy during the week, there hadn’t been a good time to sit her down and finish his interrupted confession from last Sunday.  Spike had intended to get it over with today, and now the opportunity was lost.  Hence the mingled disappointment and relief.

But why had she left in such a rush?

Buffy had been all over him after the show last night, and looking back on it now, Spike realized she’d been desperate rather than turned on.  Almost as if she was afraid of losing him, which didn’t make any sense.  He’d done nothing to make her feel insecure.  Except – _oh_.  The bra in his back pocket.  When Buffy had slipped her hands into his pockets and encountered it, completely forgotten by him, she’d tugged it out and stared blankly at the black lace for several long moments, then pitched it across the room with a growl and tackled him to the floor.  Spike had thought it cute at the time, and damn sexy she was so possessive.  But to a woman with her history, a bra in his back pocket, no matter how innocent, was probably a trigger of the worst kind. 

Spike knew he was going to end up hurting the girl, but not that way.  Never that way. 

The question was, did he go after his girlfriend and set her fears to rest, or let her work through them on her own?

 


	28. Chapter 28

 

Buffy woke with a start, confused.  She was in her bed, alone, and how strange was it to be disoriented in your own room after only a week elsewhere?

_Tap tap tap_.

The noise repeated, light but insistent, against her windowpane.  She made her way over and pulled back the curtain.  Spike’s face appeared, ethereal in the moonlight, and she opened the window.  He was crouched in the tree outside her room, black-clad body blending into the shadows as he balanced at the end of a branch.  When he began to wobble, she grabbed his wrist and hauled him halfway into the room.

“Freak.  What are you doing?”

“Had to talk to you.  Your cell was off and I didn’t want to wake Dawn.”

“Oh.  It must have died,” she said, wincing inwardly at her lie.  Spike hung over the sill without response, legs still dangling outside, and her confusion gave way to anger.  “What was so important you had to wake me up at three in the morning?”  She’d only just fallen asleep, after tossing and turning without the comfort of his arms while she tried to work through her fears before morning light.  She knew she was being ridiculous, pushing him away because she was terrified of an offense he hadn’t committed and maybe never would, but hey.  Welcome to Buffy’s brain.

Spike grimaced.  “Think you could help me in?  This is a lot less comfortable than it looks.”

Buffy did as he asked, and he hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing through the pain.  She waited, arms crossed.

“Right,” he said, straightening.  “Why I’m here.  Had to tell you I love you.”

“Um, okay.  Thank you.  It couldn’t have waited a few more hours?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.  “Tried to.  But the more I waited, the more I worried, and the more I worried, the more I wanted to do something to numb the worry.  Something bloody stupid.  So I figured I was better off here, with you mad at me, than-”

“Getting drunk.  Yeah, good choice.”  Buffy led him to her bed and sat, patting the space beside her.  “So what had you so worried?”  As if she didn’t know.  She’d taken off on him without warning, tired of her own silent apprehension and needing to get away, clear her mind.  Of course he’d been concerned – there was no way Spike could know what was going on inside her brain.

“I’d never cheat on you, love.  You know that, right?  You’re it for me.”

And then again, maybe he could.  Points for insightfulness.  “I wasn’t worried-”

“Yeah, you were.  Took me awhile to cotton on, but I did, and I don’t rightly blame you.  It’s part of being in a band – the groupies, the flying knickers – but it means nothing to me.  Not like you do.”

“Angel said-”  Too late, she snapped her mouth shut.

“Angel?” he repeated, confused.  Upon seeing her face, he said menacingly, “Angel said what, and when?”

Buffy looked away, ashamed.  “He was there last night.  Saturday night.  I didn’t tell you because I was trying to pretend it didn’t happen.  Make like it was a bad dream or something.”

“And?  Pray tell, what did _Angel_ say that has you doubting me?”

She twisted her hands together.  “He was trying to get in my head.  I think.  Or maybe…  I don’t know.”  She didn’t know if he’d truly been concerned for her or not, but hashing out his sincerity with Spike was out of the question.  “Anyhow, he said…”

“ _What_?”

“He-said-you-were-still-sleeping-around,” she said in a rush.  “That he’d heard gossip about you and… women,” she finished lamely.  “Recent gossip.”

Spike was deathly silent.  She risked a glance at him, and her heart twisted at the devastation in his eyes.  Devastation she’d caused.

When he finally spoke, she could barely make out his words.  “And you believed him?”

“No.  I didn’t.”  She shook her head for emphasis.  “But there was lingerie in your pocket that wasn’t mine.  And I have baggage.  That makes me not trust you even when I do.”

“Bit of a contradictory statement, pet.”

Buffy forced herself to remain seated next to Spike rather than give in to the instinct to flee.  She slipped her hand into his, relieved when he squeezed it.  She hadn’t driven him away with her crazy.  Yet.  “Yeah, well.  You telling me you don’t have any stupid insecurities waiting to sabotage a perfectly wonderful relationship?”

“Oh, I’ve got them, Buffy.”  His breath hitched.  “Trust me on that one.  Got them in spades.”

They sat side-by-side, holding hands in the dark.  Buffy wondered what Spike was thinking, but he didn’t share.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I should have talked to you, I know.  Instead of running away.  But my house is all clean now.  Sparkling, even.”  She nudged his shoulder and he chuckled, then wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.  Despite her annoyance at being woken, she was glad he was here, glad he’d set her fears to rest.  “Were you – were you planning on going back home?”

“Uh.  Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She crawled into his lap and straddled his thighs.  “Stay?  I missed you.”

Spike kicked off his boots.  “Couldn’t sleep without you, pet.”

“Me either.”  They fell sideways together, and Buffy pulled the covers up.

“Do I need to hunt the sod down and hurt him again?  He going to be bothering you?”

Buffy yawned, at peace in her boyfriend’s arms.  “Don’t think so.  He said he was just in town for the weekend.  But Spike?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I don’t want Angel to be the last thing through my mind before I fall asleep.”

He grinned at her, teeth gleaming in the dark.  “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got just the cure for that.”

“Not here!  Dawn!”

Spike kissed her, long and sweet, chasing thoughts of anything else away, then pulled her tighter into his embrace.  “Night, kitten.”

She snuggled in, eyelids already drooping shut.  “Night.”

 

*******

 

“Does Mom _have_ to go get him?”  Buffy climbed back into bed after freshening up, her lower lip pushed out in a delicious pout.  Spike leaned forward to nibble on it, then eased her down onto her back, conversation coming to a standstill for several long minutes.  When she sat up again, he remained sprawled out beneath her, all the better to look up and admire her curves.  The cotton sheet pooled about her hips when she pushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a daisy chain of hickies on the underside of her bared breasts, and the sight made his smile widen in fond remembrance.  “I mean, totally excited to have Giles home, and can’t wait to tease him with all the little tidbits Mom’s let slip since she’s been back, but…”

“Gonna miss our little love nest, are you?”

“I suppose we could sneak home during the day, when they’re at work.  But what if they have the same idea and sneak home too?”  She looked queasy.  “Can I forget I had that thought?”

“Please do,” Spike said, nodding fervently.  He cupped a breast and she shivered, falling backwards under his ministrations.  He rolled on top, nipping at his marks with soft bites.  They were supposed to be getting up and going to work.  Any minute now.  Hell, over an hour ago – but Spike couldn’t tear himself away from her lithe, naked form.  Buffy was in no rush either, both of them loathe to give up their last moments of privacy.

He reached into the drawer and pulled out another condom.  “Trying to go for a record, are you?” Buffy said, her laughter turning into a moan as he stroked her swollen, wet folds with his other hand.

“Storing up for the drought ahead.  Want me to stop?”

“No!”

Spike entered her slowly, each thrust gentle, mindful of her tenderness.  The distance he fancied he’d felt from Buffy ever since her encounter with Angel seemed to retreat whenever they made love.  It was just one more reason Spike wanted to be buried inside his girl as often as he could, to feel the connection that seemed to be slipping away.  He knew it was likely all in his head, brought on by his own guilt at not having come clean after the sharp reminder of how tentative her trust was, how terrified she still was of being hurt by him. 

With good reason.

He was going to tell her.  After the contest was over.  No more excuses of too busy, too stressed, or too awkward if she did dump him on his lying ass.  In the meantime, he had ten more days to enjoy her affection.

“Love you, Buffy,” he told her, face buried in her neck.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” she murmured back.  “My big, bad sweetie.”

Raising his head, Spike asked, “Am I?  Yours?”

Buffy smiled.  “I don’t seem to be able to get rid of you, so looks like I’ll have to keep you.”  He changed his angle and she moaned, eyes falling shut and head lolling to the side.  Her words came out breathy.  “It’s a chore, I tell you, letting the sexiest man alive treat me like a goddess day after day.”

Spike forced himself to still completely.  “You want me to stop?”

Her eyes popped back open.  “No stopping,” she growled.  Hooking her leg around him, Buffy flipped them over and took charge.  He folded his arms behind his head, hips thrusting in time with hers, grinning as she rode him to completion, breasts bouncing, head thrown back.

When they were cuddled after, enjoying the afterglow, Spike said, “What if I got my own flat?  Reckon you’d come visit me there?”

Buffy pinched his side.  “No.  I have no interest in you, I’m just really partial to this bedroom.  You serious?”

“Seems the thing to do.  Need a place to be alone with my girl.  ‘Sides, my life is here now.  Probably time to settle in rather than make like I’m just visiting.”  Part of him wanted to ask if she’d move in with him, but he knew it was too soon.  Especially considering she might not even be talking to him in two weeks time.  Instead, he said, “You want to go apartment hunting with me?  Help me pick one out?”

“It’s going to be your place.  You should decide, not me.”  Her eyes sparkled though, her pleasure at being asked apparent.

Spike pecked her on the nose.  “Nah.  Want you to want to be there.  I’m happy with anything long as I know you’ll come by to brighten the place up.”

Buffy buried into his arms, face turned up to his.  “How’d you ever fool me into to thinking you were such an asshole?”

He smirked at her, tongue poking out.  “On that tender note, we ought to get up.  Get going on the day.”  

“Did I ruin the romantic?”  

“We’re hours late to work.”  Spike sniffed the air.  “Figure we ought to wash the sheets and air the room out too, so poor Rupes isn’t overwhelmed when he walks in.”

Her nose scrunched.  “And now the romantic is definitely gone.”  He laughed, and resisted the urge to tackle her back into bed.

 

*******

 

“Mr. Pratt?”

Spike looked up from his computer and tried to place the woman in his doorway.  He’d met her before, he was sure of it, but the details escaped him.  “Hello.”  He smiled wide and hoped she would clue him in without his having to ask.

He came around the desk and the tall brunette offered her hand, grip cool and firm.  “Jessica Florent.  The last time we met was a few years back.  I worked for Dark Horse Productions, with Candace Halloway.”

The memory clicked.  “The promotions company, gotcha.  I didn’t, uh, deal with you directly did I?” he asked, recalling his drunken tirades with shame, and hoping she hadn’t been the recipient of his bad behavior.

She gave him a half-smile, as if she knew what he was referring to, but didn’t call him on it.  “The only time I spoke with you was when you and your band mates came to our office.  We were all very disappointed at Dark Horse when the tour fell through, but it looks as though you’re singing again.  I quite enjoyed the show the other night.”  Jessica indicated a chair.  “May I?”

“Of course.”  Jessica sat and Spike followed suit, taking the chair beside her.  “How can I help you?”

“I represent a booking agency for the area of Los Angeles.  We have contacts with all the top clubs, such as The Roxy, and we’ve worked with several headliners at concert venues, supplying local talent for the opening act.  My agency is interested in discussing a possible contract with you.  This new band of yours shows just as much potential as Edge of Insanity did and-”

He cut her off before she could go any farther.  “Sorry, love, but the Dingoes aren’t my band.  I’m only filling in for the lead singer while he recuperates from an accident.”  Jessica frowned, and Spike hurried to keep her interest.  “You should hear Devon sing, though.  He’s just as good, and he’ll be here tonight.  He and Buffy together?  Amazing.”

“Buffy is the female singer?”

Spike nodded.  “Come back later, you won’t be disappointed.  You’ll have the chance to hear the Dingoes at their best.”

Jessica drummed her manicured fingers on her knee.  “It’s you I’m more interested in, to be honest.”

His heart leapt in his throat, long-repressed visions of fame dancing in his head.  “I’m getting back together with Edge of Insanity,” he blurted before he could think it through.

“Really?  Now this is interesting news.  In London or here?”

“Uh.”  _Shit._   “We haven’t worked all the details out yet, but I reckon it would be London.  That’s where our fan base is, and the other blokes all have lives there.”  Spike’s mind churned a mile a minute, trying to find a way to work things out.  Buffy meant more to him than any pie-in-the-sky dreams of making it big, but maybe there was a way he could have both?  Knowing the woman she was, she would encourage him to pursue his dreams. 

If she knew what they were.

There was also the little detail of whether Buffy would even be a deciding factor in a week’s time, although if she did break up with him, Spike didn’t hold any illusions that he would be able to keep it together enough to jump right into singing again.  Most likely he’d be too busy trying to win her back.  And too busy fighting the lure of easy oblivion.

Jessica cut into his feverish thoughts.  “If I recall, Edge of Insanity didn’t make use a booking agent in London?” 

“We handled it all ourselves.”  Spike tried to tamp down the note of pride out of his voice as he added, “Got into all the best clubs on our own.”

“Yes.  You did.  However, a good booking agent does more than find you gigs.  Here is what I’m thinking.  We have a reciprocity agreement with an agent in Britain.  While signing with them wouldn’t help with respect to booking gigs, they would widen your audience base considerably.  And help with re-launching your band with you as lead singer.  If you were to sign with them, we would then handle the American end of your career once the time came, in a few months to a year depending on how quickly you regain your popularity.”  Jessica leaned towards Spike.  “Trust me when I say you want me handling your business here.  I’m very, very good.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agreed, and she sat back, seemingly satisfied with his response.

“Let me talk to my people, see what we can come up with, and you talk to yours.  We can get together again next week.  I’m very interested in making this happen, especially since your personal issues seem to be under control now.”  Spike grimaced at the reminder, and Jessica said, “Don’t worry; it happens more often than you would think.  You stay in this industry long enough, you see it all.”  She smiled at him.  “I still listen to my Edge of Insanity CD all the time.  You don’t know how excited I am to find out you’re getting back together.  I’m fangirling inside as we speak,” she said, quirked mouth the only indication she was anything other than a professional woman at this moment.

“Glad to hear it.”  Trying not to feel guilty for leading her on when he had no bloody clue if he really was going to go back to Edge of Insanity, Spike gave her his most charming smile.  “You’ll still give the Dingoes a go, yeah?  Come listen tonight?”  Whether or not he found success, he wanted it for Buffy, maybe even more than he did for himself.

“We’ve had somebody here most nights.  Your contest has created quite the buzz in the city.  All the important people are here, hoping to snatch up the next big thing.”

“Then you’ll definitely want to grab the Dingoes before anybody else does.”

Jessica inclined her head, stood, and pulled a business card out of her purse.  “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me.  I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Spike stared at the card a long time after she left, trying to sort his thoughts and failing miserably.  All week, he’d been leaning towards turning Charlie down.  His chance at glory had passed.  He was settling into adulthood and life in California, and if it wasn’t what he’d always dreamed of, it was a good life.  He enjoyed running the club, and he enjoyed singing on the side, for fun.  He was feeling optimistic this morning about his relationship with Buffy.  Spike hoped that if she did break up with him when he told her the truth, she’d eventually forgive him.  Romantic sap that he was, he couldn’t help but believe fate kept bringing them together for a reason.  But even if she never forgave him, Sunnydale felt like home now.  As difficult and painful as it would be without her, he thought he would be able to make a life for himself here.  Now that his uncle had returned from his sabbatical, Buffy planned to return to her mother’s gallery once her contest was over, and then move on to a permanent position as soon as she’d officially graduated.  If she dumped him, they wouldn’t be stuck working together, dealing with the inevitable awkwardness that followed breaking up with a co-worker. 

All the factors weighed, his mind had been made up.  Until now.

Jessica’s insistence that she was interested in _him_ opened up a whole new range of possibilities, and the decision was no longer a simple one.  Spike had told himself that even if he did go back to Edge of Insanity, there was little likelihood of them ever making it big, what with how fickle the music scene could be.  His chance at fame and fortune had passed.  And yet… he held in his hand the card of somebody who’d told him different.  Somebody who believed he still could shine.

Spike wanted to run to Buffy’s office and share his exhilaration.  Spill all his jumbled hopes and hear her thoughts in return.  Let her sway his course of action. 

But that wasn’t going to happen.  He couldn’t even broach the subject until he’d manned up and told her the truth of who he was, never mind that this upcoming week was going to be Buffy’s most stressful yet as she oversaw the final rounds in the Battle of the Bands competition.  It was too much to ask her to deal with his shit too.  Spike tucked the card into his back pocket, resigned to putting all decisions on hold until after the contest was over.  Until after he knew where he stood with her.

Next Sunday – nine days from now, when the contest was officially finished – was going to be a day of reckoning.

 


	29. Chapter 29

Giles rapped on Buffy’s office door, interrupting her very pleasant post-lunch daydreams.  She’d been recalling how Spike had dropped her off last night, then shown at her bedroom window a half hour later, doing his best not to fall out of the tree and claiming he couldn’t sleep a wink without her.  He was such a cuddly, tactile freak.  But then, when it came to Spike, so was she.  Giles had returned home two days ago, on Wednesday, and she had barely slept at all Wednesday night without her boyfriend-shaped teddy bear.  So when Spike had rapped on her windowpane last night, Buffy had been secretly happy to see him, even as she’d pretended to bitch him out for being so needy and irresponsible.  When his face had fallen and he’d turned to go, she’d wrapped her arms around him from behind to prevent him from leaving.  Buffy had giggled madly and hung on for dear life as he’d tried to climb out the window with her clinging to his back like a monkey. 

One round of make-up smoochies later, she’d fallen asleep without any problem, wrapped in the safety of his strong arms.  The best part had been trying to sneak Spike out of her home early in the morning, before her mother caught him in her room.  Buffy didn’t know if her mom would have actually freaked to find Spike in her bed, considering she was twenty-two years old and they’d remained clothed all night, but it was still fun to creep around like the naughty teenager she’d never been.

“Are you ready to meet now?” Giles said.

“Yes sir, boss-man.”  She and Spike had sent Giles regular reports while he’d been in Bath, but they’d yet to sit down together since he’d returned.

“Buffy.  The only appellation worse than boss-man is that ridiculous G-man Xander insists on calling me.  Please.  I have missed you greatly, but not enough to let your absurd nickname slide.”

“That’s a no on the boss-man.  Check.  Hmm.”  She pretended to think, tapping her pencil against her lips.  “How about marathon-man instead?  Is it okay if I call you marathon-man?””

“Mar- marathon-man?  Why on earth would you call me that?”

“That’s what Mom called you,” she sing-songed.  The glasses came off, and Giles polished them so hard, Buffy was afraid he was going to crack a lens before his stammering, blushing fit ended.  “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to console him.  “The marathon-man thing runs in the family.”

A lens cracked with an audible snap, and Buffy eeped, covering her face as she realized what she’d admitted.  “Please pretend you didn’t hear that,” she said through her hands.

“Hear what?” Giles asked, his voice strained.  “I’m fairly certain I haven’t heard a word you’ve spoken for the last several minutes.”  He gripped his glasses tighter, then very slowly, and with a great amount of dignity, tucked them into his shirt pocket, ignoring the broken pieces.  “I was wondering, Buffy, if you might have a moment to go over the numbers now?”

Cheeks still flaming, Buffy spoke from behind her hands.  “Yes, Giles, I do.  I’ll be right there, and we can conduct business, like regular business-conducting people.”

“Very good.”

 

*******

 

When the echo of Buffy’s heels clicking down the hallway had died out, his uncle rose and closed the door to his office.  “Spike – William,” he said.  “Now that you and Buffy are in a relationship, have you spoken with her regarding your true identity?  I am afraid I shan’t be able to keep up this pretense day after day, and I shall inevitably slip and reveal your given name.  Never mind that it is unfair to Buffy to maintain such a deception.  When you were no more than co-workers, I was willing to go along with your charade, despite my reservations.  But now – this is indefensible, William.”

Spike hung his head.  “Don’t I know it.”  Wishing for a drink to calm his nerves, and steadfastly ignoring the urge, he said, “Tried to fess up a few times, but I couldn’t go through with it.  Got as far as telling her my name was Bill.  Smart girl that she is, I’m sure she’s already sussed out Bill is short for William, but no, I haven’t told her I’m the William she knows.  S’on my to do list.”

“I see.  And how do you imagine she is going to take this news?”

“Not well?”

“Precisely.”

The weight of Rupert’s disapproval forced Spike to meet his gaze.  “I am going to, you have my word.  As soon as this project of hers is over, and she doesn’t have so much on her plate.”

“And may I inquire why you didn’t divulge the truth the moment your relationship turned romantic?  Surely you realize that with Buffy, complete candor is always the best policy.”

“Realize it, yes.  Be man enough to do what I knew I had to?  No, I sodding well wasn’t, and each day I put it off, it became more impossible a task.  I understand I have to man up and do it, though, and I will.  Next Sunday.”  Spike scrubbed his hands across his face.  “When she dumps me on my ass for it, you’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you?  Tell her how I’m a coward, not a liar.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Not bloody likely, but let’s hope.”

Despite his uncle’s reprimands, Spike remained wound up thanks to his earlier conversation with Jessica.  He spent most of the afternoon flitting about the club, unable to focus.  If she did come back tonight, he wanted the Dingoes to be ready for her, and even if she didn’t, there were plenty of others to impress.  The band hadn’t been going at it full bore with Devon absent, but that needed to change.  Spike had a whole list of things for them to work on tonight, ways to impress the representative and her agency.  Problem was, the Dingoes all had day jobs, and he couldn’t share his ideas until the band members arrived.  What with already having to avoid Buffy in order to keep from blurting his news, and waiting impatiently for the rest of the band to arrive, he could barely contain his nervous energy.

As soon as they’d all trickled in, he hurried them to his uncle’s empty office and shut the door.  “Look, here’s the deal.  I heard some buzz about your band around the club.  Seems like there might be a booking agency interested in you – one with the kind of pull you’re looking for if you want to hit it big – so you lot need to put on your best show tonight.  Let them see what you’re capable of.  They haven’t had much chance to hear Devon and Buffy together, so let’s let them, yeah?”  He faced Devon.  “You need to give it your everything for as long as you can.  Better to leave the stage after three of your best renditions ever than stick around and muddle through five more mediocre ones if you don’t have the energy to continue.”

“Screw you,” Devon said, pushing himself to stand.  “Who the hell made you the boss of my band?”

“Devon,” Oz said.  “The man’s trying to help us.  He knows what he’s talking about.”

The lead singer rolled his eyes.  “If he does, then why doesn’t he have his own band, huh?”

“He knows how to manage.”  Buffy moved to stand at Spike’s side.  “Band managers don’t have to have had their own success to know how to do things properly.  Just hear him out,” she said, her tone turning placating.  “We don’t have to do what he says, but maybe he’ll have some good ideas.  This might be our only shot at impressing the right people, Devon.  It can’t hurt to put on the razzle-dazzle.”

Devon grumbled, but waved at Spike to continue as he sat back down.

“Right.  From what I overheard, they’re liking how you two sound together,” he lied.  Jessica had said no such thing, but he was positive she would have.  “So let’s put the duets up front, and anything you can harmonize on without much practice.  And…”  Spike gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue.  “Know it’s a bit awkward with you not being so mobile at the moment, Devon, but if you and Buffy can practice some of the more, uh, intimate moves we’ve been using for ‘Hither’ before you take the stage tonight – add a little sizzle…”  Buffy turned her wide eyes on him, and he gave her an encouraging smile, all the while trying to beat back the feelings of jealousy that were roaring out of control at the idea of some other pillock touching his girlfriend. 

“You’re right, we should work on that,” Buffy agreed, even though her tone clearly said she wasn’t sure at all.  “We can practice back here, I guess.”  She touched Spike’s hand, seeking reassurance, before she turned to Oz.  “You good with letting Sam and the Troll take care of host duties so we can work on this?”

“Of course,” Oz replied.  When the others fell into conversation, the orange-haired man drew Spike aside.  “You certain about the sizzle?  Devon and Buffy don’t exactly have the same chemistry you two do.  What if it falls flat?”

Oz’s assertion that there was no chemistry between his girlfriend and some other man sent a flood of warmth through Spike’s chest, even though a lack of chemistry would be a bad thing for the band.  “If they do fall flat, you’ll see it in the next few minutes and know to scrap that part of it.”  He looked at Buffy laughing with Devon.  “She’s a clever one, though, eh?  I have the feeling she’ll figure something out.  Your other job, mate – the more important one – is to keep Devon from being a dick tonight.  Remind him you’ve got to have more than a pretty face and a good voice to make it in this business.”

Oz gave Spike an appraising look.  “You know, your better bands – the ones who make it – tend to have good friends in their corner.  The kind who use their own mistakes to help others out.” 

He narrowed his eyes, curious, but Oz didn’t add to his statement.  “You been to London in the last few years?” Spike asked.

“Been to YouTube.  Seen some amazing bands that didn’t make it big, and it wasn’t for lack of talent.  Or pretty faces.”

Spike smiled wryly, no trace of bitterness in his voice when he spoke.  “Yeah.  That happens a fair bit.  Or so I’ve been told.”  Oz nodded and turned away, leaving Spike to wonder just how much the shorter man knew of his own musical career, and why he hadn’t said anything before.  He preferred it that way, but still.  It was curious.

He spoke to the group at large.  “One more thing.  Whatever merch you’ve got, get it all out there tonight.  Have some good-looking girls selling it, create a buzz.  The music industry favors those who are already successful, and they’re looking for musicians who are willing to work for that success.  Show them you’re already there.”  The Dingoes nodded their understanding, and Buffy and Devon began a hurried conversation. 

“Let me know what you need to get that set up,” Spike said.  After pausing to give Buffy a quick kiss, he dashed off to talk to his uncle and see what they had in the way of video equipment, so they could get tonight’s performance up on the internet and garnering hits before morning

 

*******

 

“What a weekend,” Buffy groaned when she climbed back in bed after a quick trip to the restroom, eyes still half-shut.  “Hooray for Sundays.”

“Hooray indeed,” Spike said.  “Got the whole day to ourselves.  Nothing to do but let me pamper you, least ‘til you and Willow go do whatever it is you birds do when you get together.”

“This I like to hear.”  She wiggled her toes, running them up and down Spike’s calf.  “How many more times do you think we can get away with sneaking you into my bedroom before Mom discovers she’s been playing unwitting host to you every night?”

He stretched like a cat, and Buffy admired the view, ghosting a hand over his bare torso.  “Fair bet she already knows.  Rupert’s already sussed out I haven’t been spending the nights there.”

“Oh.  Darn.  And here I thought we were being all clandestine.”

“It’s not so bad.  ‘Specially since I have the feeling your mum’s room went unused last night.  Think the older generation’s taking advantage of my absence to have a love nest of their very own.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose.  “Can we please not mention that?  No groininess allowed when it comes to the old people.  In happy-Buffy-fantasy-land, Giles spent the night on his couch, thank you very much.”  Her frown deepened into a full-blown pout.  “Why didn’t you say something when you got here?  Dawn spent the night at Janice’s, which meant there was nooooo reason to keep our clothes on.  And keeping your clothes on when you don’t have to?  Should be a crime.”

Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth.  “Is that right, now?  Glad to see we agree.  Though you have to admit we were both too tired for shagging last night.  No way I could have given you a proper seeing to.”

“Maybe.  Still.  We could be making up for it right now.”  She tugged at her shirt, but Spike halted her.

“Go check, see if your mum’s here.  I’d hate to be wrong, kitten.  She might overlook me spending the night, but I don’t fancy the dirty looks Joyce’ll give me if she catches me out ravishing her daughter right down the hall from where she’s sleeping.”

Buffy bounded out of bed, hurrying to do as Spike said.  No car in the driveway, but she double-checked the downstairs and even peeked in her mom’s and Dawn’s rooms before sounding the all clear.  “Looks like we’ve the house to ourselves.”

“And the day just keeps getting better.”

“Yes it does.”  Buffy bumped her door shut with her hip, then locked it for good measure.  “You want to know an interesting fact?”  He nodded, and she pointed to her bed.  “This bed is a virgin bed.  Innocent.  Untouched.”  She moved closer, peeling off her top as she went, and paused at the foot of her bed.  “It has never seen the sex.”

“You’re making me feel sorry for your bed, kitten.”

“Am I?”

Spike crossed his arms behind his head.  “Know this isn’t the kind of thing a modern man is supposed to feel, but I have to admit it’s giving me a thrill to know no one else has had you in your girly bed.  I get to be the first.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow.  “Who said anything about having me?”

He nodded at her chest, leering at her hardened nipples.  “A picture’s worth a thousand words, princess.  You gonna come here, or just tease me?”

She weighed her options, then decided she wasn’t much in the mood for teasing.  Not when they’d had to restrain themselves for the last several days.  Teasing could come later, when her aching need was satisfied.  Buffy shimmied out of her pajama bottoms and divested him of his black sweats with a quick yank.  She crawled up his body, covering it with her own and enjoying his hard, naked flesh beneath her.  Reaching into the bedside dresser, she fumbled around until she found the strip of condoms she’d hidden in there, just in case. 

Condom in hand, she said, “I need you.  Now.”

“Right to it, then.”  Spike slipped his arms around her, tangling one in her long hair as the other caressed her lower back, and Buffy wriggled against him, moaning his name when he promptly hardened against her belly.  His hand slid lower, to tease between her legs.  “Are you wet for me, love?”  She didn’t bother to answer; the ease with which his fingers slipped against her folds was answer enough.  Instead, she sat up, grinding into him as she unwrapped the condom.

When he was positioned and ready, Buffy twined her fingers with his and brought them to her mouth to kiss the backs of his hands.  She sank down an inch, just enough to feel him spreading her open.  “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

She kissed his fingertips one by one, making sure his gaze remained locked on her.  “I love you.”  His eyes widened in awe, and she plunged down before he could form a response.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, and propped himself up on his elbows to look into her eyes as she began a rhythm.  “You mean it?”

She smiled sweetly, entranced by the look of wonder on his face.  Buffy tugged him upright until they sat face to face and cupped his jaw, thumbs tracing those well-defined cheekbones as she stared into his wide blue eyes.  He held still, breathless.  “Yes.  I love you, Spike.”  He blinked and swallowed heavily, cupping her face in return as he pressed tiny kisses everywhere.

“God, I love you, Buffy.  Love you so bloody much,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss.  She began to glide up and down his length once more, and Spike picked up the rhythm, supporting her bottom when she wrapped her legs around his waist.  Buffy slid her arms under his and held him tightly against her, belly to belly, breasts pressed firmly against his chest, clitoris sliding against him as they moved.  The way he kept hold of her gaze, looking deep into her eyes as if trying to meld their souls, breath hitching and expression incredulous, had Buffy spiraling towards orgasm faster than she’d ever done before.

Just as her lashes fluttered shut in ecstasy, he said, “Look at me, baby.  Please?”  She did, and shuddered with the force of the love she saw there.  Spike stiffened, then thrust into her, groaning in time with his release.  He dropped his forehead to rest against hers.  “What you do to me, woman,” he said with a shiver, and Buffy hummed in agreement, tightening her hold on him as he did the same.  His entire body began to shake as his head fell against her shoulder, and she realized with a start that he was crying.

“Spike?” she said, alarmed.  “What…?”

He didn’t answer, just gripped her tighter, and Buffy held on to him and waited.  Finally, he said to her shoulder, “I’m a bad, bad man.  I don’t deserve you.”  He looked up, eyelashes dark with his tears.  “You’re so radiant.  Full of warmth and goodness.  I don’t deserve your love.”

“How about you let me decide that,” she whispered, terrified by the heartache she saw in his eyes.  Buffy kissed away his tears, desperate to ask what it was that had him so worried, but afraid of the answer.  While he clutched at her like a man drowning, her mind went back and forth, debating whether to ask him outright if there was something he needed to tell her.

Spike took the decision out of her hands.  “Got to use the loo, pet,” he said, attempting a manly sniff.

“Oh.  Okay.”  She climbed off of him, wrapping the sheet around herself as he went to the door, opened it, and poked his head out to listen.  He disappeared down the hall, bare-assed, and Buffy heard the shower start up minutes later.  When Spike returned, hair damp and curly, drops of water dotting his skin and towel slung low on his hips, she was curled against her headboard.  She watched him carefully as he padded closer, rubbing himself dry.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said.  “Figured I ought to get that taken care of before anyone came home.”  He gestured to the clock, which showed just past noon.  “Reckon we won’t be alone much longer.”

“No, it’s fine.  Good thinking.”  Buffy chewed her lip.  “Spike…  Are you – are we okay?”

He dropped down to the edge of the bed and leaned forward to capture her lips.  “Still getting used to how I turn into a right nancy-boy ‘round you, love,” he answered when the kiss ended, and Buffy could see the fear lurking behind his bravado.  Something was off, but he wasn’t admitting to it.  “Hard to keep up the manly act when I start sniveling every time we get intimate.”

Buffy scooted closer to him.  “You know it only makes me love you more, right?”

Spike rolled his eyes.  “Bloody women.  Can’t let me get a bit of my own back.”  His face softened.  “It’s nice to hear, though.  That you love me.  Even the nancy part of me.  Thank you.”

“Well if you can love my inner bitch, I can love your inner girl.  Fair is fair.”  Spike snorted and tackled her to the bed, tickling her, and Buffy screamed in laughter.

“Hello?” Dawn called out from downstairs.  “That screaming better not mean what I think it does!”

The pair of them froze, and then Buffy began to giggle helplessly when Spike yelled, “Go away Bit, I’m busy ravaging your sister.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dawn yelled back.  “I’m going outside to water the plants, and when I’m done, you two better be downstairs and decent, or I’m telling Mom.”  The front door slammed and the house was quiet once more, except for Buffy’s giggles.

“Good thing she didn’t come upstairs.”  Buffy smacked him hard across his bare ass, which would have been visible though the door he’d forgotten to shut.  “She would have been traumatized for life.”

His eyes darkened.  “I remember you saying you wanted to return the favor, pet, but now is hardly the time.”  Buffy gulped when she realized he meant a spanking, and gulped again as his erection grew before her eyes, standing proud and tall within a matter of seconds.

“Put that away,” she hissed.

Spike lowered himself to nudge against her folds.  “Can think of somewhere I want to put it.  How long does it take to do the watering?”

“The way Dawn does it?  Five minutes.  Unless she wants to be good and sure we’re not naked when she comes back in.”

He leapt off the bed, shut and locked her door, then grabbed the strip of condoms from where it had fallen to the floor.  “Roll over onto all fours, and we’d best hope she makes it ten.”  Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Spike set his tongue dancing over his teeth, and gave her a look filled with such promise she swore her toes curled.  She hurried to oblige, ripping off her shirt and dropping to her hands and knees.  

“Scoot backwards, to the edge.”  He gripped her hips and helped her into the position he wanted, his obvious excitement releasing her own fresh rush of slick moisture.  Spike spread her wetness with his condom-covered cock, pushed her upper body down, flat against the bed, and gripped her hips.  “Ready?”

 “God, yes.”

Without warning, he plunged into her, without any pretense of gentleness.  Buffy gasped into her mattress, trying to stay quiet as began a series of hard thrusts that filled the room with the illicit sound of flesh smacking flesh.  One of his hands slipped around to rub her clit, and he changed his angle slightly with each thrust until she cried out, hands scrabbling to hang on to something.  “Oh yeah, that’s my girl,” he said.  Spike maintained his punishing pace until she bucked backwards against him with helpless jerks, gripping her sheets so hard she pulled them right off the bed, screams muffled by the bunched fabric she stuffed into her mouth.  Buffy hung limp in his grip, dazed, throbbing and trembling, while he pistoned harder, grunting in time to the rhythm of his hips.  With his own cry, Spike slumped forward, body heavy and slick with sweat.  They lay together in a daze, panting and gasping.

“Okay, wow,” Buffy said when her fingers and toes had stopped tingling and she could think again.  “Quickie sex has merits too.”

Spike rolled off of her and glanced at the clock. “Six minutes.  That leaves four for getting dressed and getting downstairs.”

“You do that, superman.  First, I need to lay here and recover.  Then it’s my turn to shower.”  She let go of her sheets and flopped onto her back, next to him.  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into making something to eat too?”

“Course you can.”  He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder.  “As long as you can wait ‘till my legs work again.  And you don’t mind eggs and toast.  That’s about as far as my culinary skills go.”

She grinned at him.  It was what he always made, and she wasn’t sick of it yet, far from it.  To Buffy, eggs and toast had come to define her mornings with Spike. 

“My favorite.”

 

*******

 

Later, under a tree at the park and with his guitar in hand, Spike sang to Buffy.  The dappled sunlight danced in her hair as she sat on a blanket listening, a soft smile upon her face.  His heart ached.  She’d told him she loved him, and it made everything so much harder.  Harder to wait one last week to tell her the truth, harder to stick to his resolve to come clean and risk losing everything.

“That’s beautiful,” she said when he finished.  “I can sing, but I can’t write.  Not one note.”

“I find myself writing quite a bit lately.”  All about her, of course.  Same as ever.  For the briefest of moments, he considered playing the very first song he’d written for her, the one about the library, just to see her reaction.  The desire was short lived, though.  Today wasn’t the day.

Buffy lay back, hands pillowing her head.  “When did you start writing songs?  I want to hear them all.”

“In my teens.  Most of it’s punk, though, and even more is utter tripe.  Not the thing for an afternoon in the park with your girl.”

“Don’t care.  Wanna hear them all.”  She rolled to her stomach, chin cradled in her hands, and scissored her feet in the air.  “Wanna know everything about you, silly.  Oooh.  Do you have any pictures from when you were younger?  I _have_ to see those.  I can’t believe Giles doesn’t have any pictures around.”

Spike grinned at her enthusiasm.  “Not the sentimental sort, old Rupert.  I do have some pictures of me and my mum tucked away in the bottom of my closet.  We’ll pull them out after I get my own flat, and you can ooh and aah over how cute I was when we unpack.  Or… or why wait, how about next weekend?  Sunday, when the contest’s over and we’ve nothing more to worry about.  I’ll pull everything out and let you go through it.  You can see all my kiddie pictures, go through the shoeboxes of my life, everything.”  He hoped she’d remember this moment when he told her the truth of who he was, hoped she would realize he’d never intended to keep his past a secret.

Buffy crawled over to him, curled up by his side, and laid her head against his chest.  Her hand ferreted its way under his shirt to rest over his heart.  “All your dirty little secrets…  Am I going to be shocked and dismayed?”

He slipped his fingers through her long, blonde hair, enjoying the silken slide across his skin.  “Reckon there might be a surprise or two,” he told her, voice rough.  “But nothing too dismaying.”  He bloody well hoped.

Reaching for the housing ads, Buffy settled into a more comfortable position, her head in his lap as she perused the newspaper and the choices they’d already circled.  Spike closed his eyes, his back against the tree trunk, and enjoyed the peace of the moment.

 


	30. Chapter 30

It was well after six, and still nobody could find Buffy.  They’d tried her house, her friends, Joyce’s gallery, and everywhere in between.  Spike had rung her cell so many times it must have died, because now it went straight to voicemail.  He hung up the phone and turned to his uncle, his entire body thrumming with pent-up tension.  “Where is she?” 

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t know.  When was the last you saw her?”

“Round about two.  What’s the point of asking again?” he snapped.  “I already told you!”  Nobody else had seen her since, and what had started out as slight concern was rapidly mutating into full-blown panic. 

Rupert laid a hand on his arm.  “She’s…  We’ll find her, son.  I’m sure she’ll walk in any minute now, laughing at us for being over-protective old hens.”

“You know that’s a load of tosh.  Buffy blowing off her responsibilities during the last few days of her project?  Not a chance.”

His uncle sighed.  “No, not a chance.  Damn it all!”  He slammed his fist on the desk, shook his hand, and began to pace.  “One of us has to stay here; I suppose that’ll be me.  I’ll remain whilst you go look for her.”  Spike spun to leave, and Rupert called after him, “Is it Shy’s turn to host tonight?”

“Tuesday, so yeah.”

“Just make sure they have what they need, and tell them to come find me if there are any problems.  You have your cell, right?”

Spike waggled his phone then hurried up front to find Veruca, glad it had been the Dingoes turn to host last night rather than tonight.  Spike wasn’t the only one looking for Buffy by this point.  Oz had just left to cruise town in his blue van, while Sam walked Main Street.  Her other friends and family had stationed themselves at their homes, in case she showed.  Spike wasn’t sure what more he could do to find Buffy, but he knew he couldn’t just sit by and wait for her to show.

The booking agent, Jessica, caught him on the way out the front door, snagging his arm as he hurried past.  “Spike, do you have a moment?”

“Not really.”  He shook her hand off, not much caring if he was being rude.  He had more important things to worry about than somebody who was _not_ Buffy.

She frowned at him.  “What is up today?  First your other singer, that Buffy, runs off right in the middle of our conversation, and now-”

Spike gripped Jessica’s arm, loosening his hold when he saw her wince.  “You talked to Buffy?  When?”

“Two or three hours ago.  Why?”

A sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.  “And what did you two talk about?”

“What is going on?”

He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to shake the daft cow.  “What did you talk about?” he almost snarled.

“We – about the Dingoes.  We talked about the Dingoes.  And then we started talking about you going back to London-”

Spike let her go and took off at a dead run.

 

*******

 

Buffy sat on the edge of Spike’s bed, rumpled sheets pushed to the bottom, the mementos of his life scattered across the floor and bed.  She was too numb to cry, too numb to scream.

_“It’s very exciting news about Edge of Insanity, isn’t it?”_

_“About who now?”_

_“Spike’s band.”_

_“Oh right… They’re um…”_

_“Has he said when he plans to leave?  The sooner he gets back with them, the sooner we can get his career back on track.  It was so disappointing when their American tour fell through last time.”_

_“They were popular, huh?”_

_“Oh, yes.  It was too bad what happened, they were this close to being the next big thing, but we’ll fix it.  Spike will be famous, yet.  Oh, the Dingoes too, don’t you worry…  Do you know if he’s in his office?  I want to see if he’s finalized his plans.”_

_“Finalized his…”_

_“Yes, to move back to London.  Buffy?  Is something wrong?”_

_“I’ll… I’ll be back later…”_

In one box she’d found everything about Edge of Insanity.  CDs, flyers, his books and books worth of song notes.  Photos and more, enough to tell Spike had lied when he’d claimed to have been in nothing more than a garage band.  The thing she’d originally been looking for, evidence that Spike was planning to leave despite all his talk of getting an apartment and setting up a life in Sunnydale, was nowhere to be found.  She’d known something was bothering him, known he had some secret he was keeping, and after the things that woman had said, she’d guessed his imminent return to London was it.  Buffy had come to the startling realization Spike was only stringing her along until he left for his chance at fame and fortune.  Keeping her around for the company.  Spike liked female company, he’d told her so himself, and his past was proof enough of how casual he could be about that company. 

Her whirlwind search had uncovered no evidence of his supposed impending departure, but that didn’t make it any less possible – airline ticketing was an online affair, and how long would it take to pack up and go?  Not long, not when all your boxes were already taped and ready.

Whether or not he was leaving had paled in importance compared to the rest of her discoveries.

_“I’m not the poetical sort.”_

_“Is that a poem?”_

_“Don’t know much about poetry.”_

Two boxes filled with poetry books made a liar of him, including a well-thumbed copy of Tennyson.  Worse yet –

_“Bill.  My name is Bill.”_

_“Sure I’m William, if that’s who you want me to be.”_

_“It was quite the comedy of errors.”_

Buffy curled into a ball, picture of William – _William_ – and an older lady who had to be his mother gripped in her fist.  The tears came now, coursing down her cheeks to the accompaniment of violent, body-wrenching sobs.  All this time, she’d been right, and all this time he’d hidden it from her.  She’d known, hadn’t she?  Somewhere deep inside?  Known he was William, and refused to admit it to herself, because it meant the man she’d fallen for was just another liar.  Maybe she should have asked him directly, forced him into the truth, but she hadn’t wanted to know.

And anyways, why should _she_ have been the one to get at the truth?  Spike was the one at fault here, the one who had lied and deceived.  Buffy couldn’t think of a single plausible explanation for his behavior.  Not unless he’d been jerking her around from the start.  Playing some game with her.  She cried even harder when the full force of his betrayal hit, gasping for breath as she realized she’d given her heart to the wrong man yet again, and there was no way she was walking away from this unscathed.

Spike – no _William_ , she reminded herself – found her like that an hour later, still curled in his bed, still shaking with the force of her emotions.  He stood in the doorway to his bedroom, taking in the detritus strewn about his room with a quick glance, his own eyes spilling tears when they came to rest upon her face.

With a shaky breath, she stood quickly, smoothed her clothes and her hair, and tried to still her trembling hands.  A part of Buffy wanted to run into his arms and beg him to explain, beg him to take away the sting of betrayal and make it all better.  Let him prove to her she wasn’t stupid for falling in love with him.

The older, wiser part of her lifted her chin and schooled her face to blankness.  “William.  How nice to see you again.”

 

*******

 

Spike knew he’d lost her the moment she stood.  He’d seen Buffy wear many expressions, not all of them pleasant, especially when directed at him, but this was the first time he’d ever seen her green eyes so empty.

“I was going to tell you, I swear.  Sunday, when-”

She shrugged, as if it was of no consequence.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  You’ll have to forgive me when I say I don’t quite trust anything that comes out of your mouth, seeing as you’ve played me for years, William.”  For a moment, her mask of indifference faltered, and Spike took a step closer, desperate to comfort her.  She held her hand up.  “ _Don’t_ touch me.”  Buffy spoke with such finality, he froze, certain his heart was shattering.  It was the only way to account for the pain in his chest.

“I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.  The question is whether I care to hear it.  And in case you haven’t figured it out, the answer is no.”  She glanced around at his room.  “Sorry about the mess.  I guess you’ll have to repack it all before you leave.  When is that, by the way?  So I can tell Jessica next time I see her.”  Buffy looked everywhere but at him.

Spike swallowed back his tears.  “I’m not leaving, I wasn’t, the bint misunderstood or took it out of context…”

“Seems like a big thing to misunderstand.”

“Well, I might have said I was considering it, but-”

“Oh.  So you lied to her.  Or both of us.  I feel so much better now.”

He clenched his fists.  “No, you’re not letting me explain-”

“You’re right.”  There was nothing in her eyes, not even the fire that used to snap his way back when she hated him, and Spike found himself struggling to breathe.  She strode to the doorway, and he moved out of her way, then trailed her through the flat and tried to think of something – anything – to say.  He had a million half-formed possibilities, all ways he’d planned on leading into this conversation in last few weeks, but there was no leading into it now.  Buffy had discovered the truth on her own, without his attempt to soften the blow, and he had nothing to add that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Halfway out the front door, Buffy paused.  “Thank you.”

Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was not it.  “For?”

She closed her eyes and wrapped herself in a hug.  “I’ve always – _always_ – regretted not going for coffee with you.  It’s weighed on me for over three years.”  When she opened her eyes again, they glistened like emeralds.  “Now I know not to regret it anymore.  Goodbye, William.”  She hurried away through the courtyard, stiff-legged, back straight, head held high.

It took him a moment to force his mouth to work.  “Buffy!”  She didn’t stop.  “Buffy,” he tried again, running to catch up.  “Can’t we talk, please?”

“I need to get back to work.”

“Sod work, that’s the least of our concerns-”  She didn’t answer him, only walked quicker.  “Look, let me at least give you a ride.”

Buffy stopped so abruptly he shot past her, skidding to a halt and turning to see her glaring at him, arms crossed.  “Leave me alone.  I’m dead serious.”

“It’s just, everyone’s out looking for you and…”

“ _Fuck_.  _Off_.”  He blanched at the venom in her tone.

“Okay.  I will, I’ll let you be.  Just promise me you’re headed straight for the Bronze?  Rupert’ll kill me if we lose you again…”

She started walking once more, stepping off the sidewalk to move briskly past him.  “Yes.”

“Okay.  I’ll call him.  Let him know.”  Spike watched her walk away until she was out of sight, then turned back, shoulders slumped.

The only words he could force out when Rupert answered his call was a terse, “She’s on her way to the Bronze.”

Inside his room, Spike stared sightlessly at his things.  He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, but the tightness of his chest, the burning in his eyes, and the vague sense of panic that held him in its grip wouldn’t let him deny that Buffy had just found everything out in the worst way possible, and had walked out of his life without a backward glance.  Who could he blame?  Only himself.

He kicked at an upended box, sending books flying around the room.  “Useless wanker.  Fucking _asshole_.”  Spike snatched up a book lying haphazardly at the foot on his bed – Tennyson he noted, almost laughing at the irony of it – and began to tear the pages out, crumpling and flinging them away with as much savagery as he could muster.  When he’d run out of pages, he collapsed onto his bed, too distraught to think clearly.  After several minutes of lying there, unable to shed the tears that stung his eyes, Spike stumbled to the living room. 

To the liquor cabinet.

His cell rang as he reached for the scotch.  He ignored it.  He was admiring a tall tumbler of the amber liquid when the home phone began to ring.  Spike ignored it as well, instead choosing to focus on the way the light caught the scotch as he swirled it, but the answering machine clicked on and relayed his uncle’s voice to the room.  “Stop right now, William,” Rupert said, tinny but loud.  “That’s not what you want to do.”

Spike sighed and lifted the handset from its cradle.  “You have security cameras here?”

“No.  But based on Buffy’s face just now when she walked in, I have a pretty damn good idea of what happened today.  And of what you’re thinking of doing.  Any man would be driven to drink under the circumstances, but that’s not a path I’ll willingly let you travel again.”

“Why not?  Not like there’s any reason not to, now.”

“That’s bunk, and you know it.  Put my scotch down, William, and come back to work.  We need you tonight, or have you forgotten?”

“If you’re trying to cheer me up, Rupes, it’s not the way to go ‘bout it.  I can’t be there.  You think I can face…” 

He couldn’t say her name. 

“You’re bloody well going to have to, you worthless twit.  Should have thought of that sooner.”

Spike winced and set the scotch to swirling again, imagining that first sip.  How it would feel sliding down, the warm burn, the merciful oblivion that would follow soon enough.  “Think it’d be better for all concerned if I stayed out of the way for the night.”

“William,” Rupert thundered.  “You get your arse back here now, do you understand me?  You created this mess, you _will_ deal with it like a man.  Or I’ll have you on the first plane out of here and never speak to you again.”

So much for a sympathetic ear. 

“ _Do you hear me_?”

“No worries, Ripper.  I’ll be right there.”  Spike stared at the promise of oblivion for several seconds longer, then hauled himself to his feet.  There was always time to get sloshed later.  He had the feeling even Ripper wouldn’t be able to keep him dry after facing Buffy tonight.

 

*******

 

Willow handed Buffy more toilet paper from the stall and made comforting noises as her friend dabbed at her swollen eyes.

“Oz!”  Buffy’s head snapped up as she realized something.  “ _He_ knew, I know he did.”

“Oz knew Spike was William?”

“He knew Spike’s like a freaking rock star or something, back in England.  He knew and he didn’t tell me!”

“Buffy – even if Oz did, it’s not his place to tell you.  Why-”

 “I don’t know!”  Buffy’s arms flew through the air, forcing Willow to dodge backwards to avoid being smacked in the nose.  “Because then maybe I would have been prepared.  I would have…”  She slumped, hands covering her face and muffling her next words.  “He lied to me, Will.  Spike lied to me.  _William_ lied to me, for years.”

“Maybe he was afraid?”

“Or maybe it was all just some game to him.  Who knows!  Not like I can trust anything he’ll say, what with the lack of trustworthiness.”  Buffy stared at her friend’s reflection in the mirror, avoiding her own.  She couldn’t bear to see how blotchy and disgusting she looked right now; it only reminded her of why she looked so blotchy and disgusting.  “How am I going to get through this, Willow?”

The redhead handed her a damp paper towel.  “One minute at a time.  One second at a time, if that’s what it takes.”

“I can’t face him,” she whispered.  “I can’t…”

“You sure you don’t want to talk to Spike?  Maybe – maybe not today, but just hear his side?”

Buffy let out a shaky breath.  “Right now?  I never want to see him again.  But I’m going to have to.  I’m going to have to go out there, and if he shows, I’m going to have to work with him.  Like everything is normal.  Pretend nothing is wrong.  And I’ll have to do it again tomorrow, and the next day.”

“Only ‘til Saturday,” Willow said soothingly.  “Only four more days.  You got through half a semester of having to share classroom space with that jerk in college, you can do this too.”  Buffy shot her an incredulous look.  “Okay, I know this doesn’t compare, but I’m just saying.  You’re stronger than you think.”

“What if I don’t want to be strong?  What if the one person I want to take the hurt away is the one who put it there?”

Willow didn’t have an answer.

 

*******

 

Buffy sat in her office, hands to her temples, and tried to force back her tears for the hundredth time that night.  The club had emptied for the evening, leaving only her and the asshole she refused to think about.  She began to gather her things, then blinked furiously as yet another unwelcome reminder of what had happened earlier hit.  She had no ride home.  Because she’d expected Spike to drive her.  How different everything had been just this afternoon.  If only she’d realized it earlier, she could have asked one of her friends to stay, but rational thought hadn’t been happening tonight.  Buffy pressed her fingers to her temples again, harder this time, too exhausted and broken to even begin to figure out how she was going to get home.  She supposed she could walk – and if some psychopath killed her on the way, well, the idea was almost welcome.  It would be one way to stop the pain.

She forced her brain to think.  She hated to wake her mom up – god, her mom didn’t even know what had happened yet.  Or Dawn.  Buffy couldn’t face the idea of having to go through the whole story again, especially not at two in the morning, when her mother would be sleep-addled and unable to grasp the situation without lots and lots of painful questions.  She’d just made up her mind to call Willow when there was a soft rap at the door.  Buffy swallowed, knowing full well who it had to be, and didn’t answer.  She’d known Spike was in the building, but he’d somehow avoided her all night, and really, was it too much to ask that he keep it up?

Tonight wasn’t the night for wishes to come true.  The door inched open.  Buffy waited, knuckles white on the lip of the desk, breath ragged and harsh despite her best efforts to remain in control.  Spike’s face appeared, and she couldn’t suppress the automatic burst of pleasure deep in her belly upon first seeing him, nor the sharp pain that clawed through her in the next instant.  She gripped the desk tighter.

“Can I…?”  Spike’s voice was hoarse.  Buffy didn’t let it affect her.  Didn’t give in to the urge to comfort him. 

_Lying bastard_.

“What do you want?”

“To talk?”

“Not a chance.”

Spike tried to smile.  “No.  Um, how do you want…  How can I make the next few days easier for you?”

Oh, not fair.  Still trying to play the doting boyfriend.  “By erasing the last few months from my memory?  Or maybe this one certain day in May, three years ago.”  His chin wobbled.  Buffy ignored it.  “I don’t have time to deal with your shit right now, so just stay out of my way.  I let you have the Bronze the last time you fucked me over, but my, you know, entire senior project is dependent on these next few days.  So if you could make with the not letting me see your face ever again, that would be great.”

“Buffy, I am so-”

She jumped to her feet and leaned across her desk to snarl, “If the next word out of your mouth is sorry, I will shove my fist so far through your face, you’ll be tasting armpit.”  He took a hasty step backwards.  “There is nothing you can say to me that will make this better, Spike.  Not now.  Not ever.”

 


	31. Chapter 31

 

If Buffy had had a hard time remaining at the Bronze, where every corner and every chair contained some memory of Spike, getting out of Willow’s car and climbing the stairs to her bedroom was pure agony.  She’d woken up safe and secure in her bed this morning, wrapped in Spike’s arms, madly in love.  Happy beyond the telling of it.

And now she stood just inside her darkened room, reminding herself that he was _William_ , not Spike.  William, and a liar, and possibly a rock star as well.

Buffy wanted to fall into her bed in an exhausted, heart-broken heap, pull the covers over her head, and sleep for the rest of the month.  She eyed the pillow Spike had slept upon last night.  Her entire body ached to clutch it to her cheek and breathe in his scent one last time.  Instead, she stripped the bed in a flurry of activity, banishing even the comforter and pillows to the depths of her closet before replacing it all with fresh bedding from the linen closet.  Buffy readied herself for bed, and only then did she allow herself to climb under the covers.  Except she couldn’t sleep.  Despite her mental and physical exhaustion, blissful unconsciousness refused to claim her.  She no longer knew how to sleep without strong arms to hold her close. 

The clock crept steadily on towards morning while Buffy tossed and turned.  In a fit of pique, she edged her way to the closet and grabbed Spike’s pillow.  She hugged it to her chest as she fell back into bed, and soaked away his scent with her tears before finally falling into a fitful slumber.

 

*******

 

Spike watched Buffy from across the club.  He’d sequestered himself in a corner, where he’d have no chance of catching her eye, no chance of distracting her.  This was her big night, the end of the contest, with prizes to award and people to schmooze.  He should have been up on stage with her, but he’d handed the job off to his uncle to spare her his presence. 

He’d done his best to stay out of her way over the last four days, just as she’d asked, and it had been the most difficult four days of his entire life.  Every part of him, every atom in every cell, screamed to throw himself at Buffy’s feet and beg her forgiveness.  And he would, but not until tomorrow.  He would not bugger this moment up for her.  Spike closed his fingers around the beer bottle in front of him, the cold, smooth glass wet with condensation, and raised it to his mouth.  He held it there, and let the aroma of temptation wash over him before setting it back down again.  It had become his ritual for the evening.  His method of making it through the night.

Up on stage, Buffy hugged the winning band members, shook hands and posed for photos, bright spotlights revealing every brittle golden smile to him, even from across the expanse of the club.  Spike raised the beer to let it nestle against his lower lip.  His tongue darted out to trace the rim, then dangled uselessly when the bottle disappeared with a sudden yank.

“I can’t let you do that, man.”  Xander plunked down in the seat next to him, drained every last drop in several long gulps, and slammed the empty bottle to the table.

“Bloody wanker!  What the bleeding hell?”

Xander wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Removing temptation.”  He belched and settled in while Spike watched in speechless amazement.  The brown-haired man jerked his head in the direction of the stage.  “Buffy finds out you’re drinking again, she’s going to blame herself.  And I’m not going to let you destroy her anymore than you already have.  Consider me your new sponsor.”

Spike considered the man across from him, gratitude replacing irritation.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  “Means a lot to me.”

“Oh, I don’t think you understood me right.  I could give a damn about you.  I’m doing this for Buffy.”

Spike sat forward to look Xander in the eye.  “I know.  Thank you.”

They stared at each other for several long moments, then Xander nodded, one short bob of his head, and turned his attention to the stage.

 

*******

 

Spike waited in Rupert’s office all of Sunday afternoon, hoping Buffy would be in to finish up paperwork, but she didn’t show.  He was still debating the pros and cons of dropping by her house, recalling the badness that had ensued last time he’d been in a similar position, when Dawn darkened the doorway.

“Dumbass,” she said.

“Hello to you too.”

“You really screwed up.”

“Already well aware of the fact, pet.”

Dawn moved forward to stand before the desk, long, brown hair a shiny curtain.  “Why, Spike?  Why didn’t you tell her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it really?”

He sighed.  “No.  But sounds better than I’m a bloody coward, doesn’t it?”

“Buffy’s a mess,” she said.  He winced, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.  “What are you going to do to fix it?”

Spike closed his eyes.  “Dunno as I can.  Think there’s any hope?”

“Buffy loves you.  She wouldn’t be so… shut down, otherwise.”  The young woman’s declaration burned the pit of his stomach, and not in a pleasant way.  “And she’s desperate to believe she wasn’t stupid for trusting you.  So you’ve got that going in your favor.  On the other hand…”

“I really screwed up.”

“Yup.”

His leg jittered, up and down, up and down, like a bloody jackhammer on speed, and Spike leapt to his feet.  “You think I should head over there?  Try apologizing?”

Dawn watched him as he fumbled with his cigarettes, her nose wrinkling when he lit up, California law be damned.  “Nice.  Second-hand stink.”  Her lips pursed in thought.  “I’d stay away if I were you.  Buffy spent all day locked in her room with her computer, watching music videos on YouTube from what I could hear.  She only opened the door to let Willow in, and she wasn’t looking so good then.”  Spike had paced to other side of the room by this point, Dawn swiveling with him. 

“Look, Buffy likes to confront issues on her own time-table.  You try to push her before she’s ready, it’ll blow up in your face.  You’ve got to wait for her to come to you.”

Spike stilled.  “What if she never does?” he asked through a haze of smoke.

“Then her mind is already made up, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.” 

 

*******

 

Buffy sat in the Espresso Pump with the Dingoes and Brad Carrington, an independent booking agent who had expressed interest in representing them.  She preferred Brad to Jessica, the woman who’d approached her last week, and not just because Jessica had been the one to clue her in about her boyfriend’s true nature.  Jessica had also shown far more excitement for a band that was _not_ the Dingoes, and that didn’t bode well for their future with her as far as Buffy was concerned.

“So this is what it comes down to,” Brad was saying.  “The next step requires full commitment.  Non-stop touring, living out of a beat-up bus, scrimping pennies everywhere you can and hustling yourselves to play every dog and pony show who’ll take you.  It means giving up your day jobs, having no security, and hoping like hell there’ll be a big shiny pay-off at the end when there’s no guarantee you’ll be anything but broke and bitter in a year’s time.”

This was another reason she liked Brad.  He didn’t try to sugarcoat the truth the way Jessica had, didn’t promise fame and fortune were there for the taking, but did promise to work his hardest to give them the opportunity to find it.

Oz seemed to share her opinion of Brad.  “And it’s your job to make sure we get into the best dog and pony shows.  The ones with actual paying fans.”

Brad grinned.  “That it is.  Although I’ll tell you a trade secret.  There’s no money to be made in concerts and tours.  All your money comes from merchandising, these days.  You get people buying your songs on iTunes, and you’re set.”

“So why tour?” Devon demanded.  “If it’s so damn hard?”

“Because,” Buffy said.  “That’s how you get your name out there, so people even know to buy the merch in the first place.”  Spike had explained it to her one night, post-show, and from a P.R. perspective, it made perfect sense.  The memory of their conversation came flooding back, and she closed her eyes, digging her fingernails into her palms to repress the ever-waiting tears. 

She missed Spike with a fierce ache that reached right into the marrow of her bones, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him, not yet.  Buffy was still trying to process everything she’d learned a week ago, and finishing up her project for the Bronze had taken first priority.  She’d spent Sunday locked in her room with her computer, watching YouTube videos of Spike and his band, amazed at the fan sites dedicated to the ex-lead singer of Edge of Insanity and wondering how she’d never clued in to any of this before.  A thread on one site was devoted to the question of whether or not Spike would return when the current singer stepped down, and though she read every post, there was nothing but idle gossip and speculation – and wild hope.  The fans, it appeared, were desperate to have Spike back.  Of course he was going back to his band – who wouldn’t with that kind of adulation?

Buffy had recognized the group’s bassist as the redheaded man who’d been with Spike the first time she’d met him – _second_ time, she reminded herself bitterly – but the bald man who’d rounded out their trio wasn’t a band member, as far as she could tell.  She’d refrained from pestering Oz for information; it wasn’t his fault Spike had hidden his past from her, and they’d all been too busy since Sunday anyhow. 

The one good thing about a hectic pace, it cut down on moping and feeling sorry for yourself time.  Buffy had spent Monday and Tuesday helping Dawn pack for her freshman year at University of Oregon, and her little sister and her mom had left for Eugene earlier in the morning.  When she hadn’t been helping Dawn pack, she’d been helping Willow, who’d lived at home and commuted to UCLA for her entire undergraduate degree, and was now in a panic over what she should take with her to San Diego State.  Then there were the interviews with various representatives who had approached the Dingoes in the last week, and plans for upcoming photo shoots and recording sessions, never mind tying up all the paperwork so she could graduate.  Life was busy, and it was a relief to have something constantly driving her onwards, something to keep her from breaking down at every step, especially when every step reminded her of Spike.

There was barely an aspect of her existence that wasn’t in some way tainted by the memories of Spike: from the Bronze to her mother’s gallery, from her bedroom to the nearby park, and even her entire college experience now that she knew he was also William.  Unable to escape the memory of him, it made finding a way to take a breather from all the thoughts chasing around her head impossible, and the only way she’d found any sanity was by keeping busy. 

It would have been worse if Spike had persisted in attempting to explain and apologize, but he’d kept his distance as she’d asked.  Buffy was more than a little surprised that he had.  Patience and restraint were not virtues of his, and the fact that he’d managed to keep away from her hurt more than she wanted to admit, since it was tantamount to acknowledging he hadn’t been as in love with her as he’d professed.

With an internal sigh, she turned her attention back to the conversation, smiling faintly as she realized Brad was in full sales pitch mode now.  She recognized that mode, and focused on analyzing his technique rather than listening to the practiced phrases, observing the way the others hung on his words with baited breath.

Brad leaned in.  “So I ask you, are the Dingoes ready to take the next step?  To go from being one of a million to one in a million?”  She smiled outright at that.  It was a good catchy phrase to end with.

Buffy stood before the others could pledge their lives away.  “We’re ready for the fame and fortune, Brad, but the specifics of whose train we’re going to hitch our wagon to are still up for debate.”  She reached to take his hand, one businessperson to another.  “Thank you so much for your time.  I really appreciate it, and you’ll be hearing from me by the end of the week.”

He gave her a genuine smile, and squeezed her fingers a fraction longer than necessary.  “I look forward to it.”  Buffy quickly snatched her hand back.  Newly single woman or not, she still felt as though she belonged to Spike, and the overly friendly touch was too much for her strained nerves.

Shouldering her purse, she gave Brad a reserved smile and turned away.

 

*******

 

Spike sat in Buffy’s empty office, absently running his fingers over the desk, the chair, the telephone, looking for some sense of connection.  She’d cleared the room of her belongings sometime prior, coming in early one morning and sneaking back out before he’d arrived.  Spike was about at wit’s end waiting for Buffy to come to him; it strained every last iota of his patience to wait.  He closed his eyes and breathed in, fancying he could scent a trace of her flowery shampoo.  “Buffy,” he murmured, then with a guilty glance at the doorway, he woke the laptop he’d brought with him, intending to get back to work.  Now that his uncle had returned, Spike had been moving into this office bit by bit, both soothed and distracted by the knowledge that Buffy had sat in this same chair day after day, all summer long.

Unable to focus, he opened the Dingoes’ homepage and clicked on the link that led to a clip of Buffy singing.  She appeared onscreen, glowing, and he sat mesmerized by her beauty.  At one point, she darted a soft smile to somebody just off-screen, and Spike’s heart caught in his throat the same as it did every time he witnessed that moment, knowing it was him she’d smiled at.  He closed his eyes again, letting the sound of her voice wash over him, and inhaled deeply as the faint notes of her shampoo rose up in memory, permeating his senses.

“Buffy,” he said again.

“Spike.” 

This was new.  Usually his phantom memories didn’t speak back.  He cracked one eye open, then fell over backwards in his chair when he realized Buffy was there, standing before him.  Spike scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, chest tight.  “Buffy,” he repeated, hurrying around the desk.  “Hello.  Hi.  How are…  I’ve missed you, pet, so much.  Are you…?”  The words came tumbling out faster than he could form sense of them, then trailed off into pained silence when she moved briskly away, avoiding his touch.  “Buffy?”

“You have explanations?  Talk.”

Her cold tone left no doubt that she’d in no way forgiven him.  He swallowed heavily.  “Do you want to sit?”

“Pretty much no.”

Spike drew a deep breath, and discovered he couldn’t find the words to start, too busy with the reality of Buffy within touching distance for the first time in over a week.  His skin crawled with the effort of keeping his hands by his sides.  “I _love_ you.”

She favored him with a frosty smile.  “And yet I don’t feel any better.  Tell me one thing.  Did you get off on laughing at me?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, bewildered.  “Laughing?”

“At how devoted I was to Angel.  How frigging naïve.  Swooping in and bursting my bubble, knowing how it would kill me to find out the truth.  You know, I thought I was older and wiser after that, but you saw the truth, didn’t you.  That I could still be played.  Did you have fun?”

“Bloody hell, where did that even come from?  No, Buffy, _no_.  Is that… is that really what you think of me?  I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Obviously I didn’t, _William_.  So clue me in, ‘cause I’m pretty much clueless here.  What has this been all about?”

“It’s been about _you_ , you daft bint,” Spike burst out.  “Christ, I fell in love with you the moment I met you in that library.  Have the sodding notebooks full of songs to prove it, don’t I?”  Buffy’s face hardened, and he softened his tone in response.  “Look, pet, I was a… a… don’t even have the words for as much of a moron as I was when I saw you again.  You have to understand, I’d met your wanker of a boyfriend, seen his behavior time and again.  Overheard him telling one of his women that you were okay with his infidelity, and for some reason I got in my head to believe him, which didn’t put you in too kindly of a light.  I couldn’t bear to have you recognize me.”  He willed her to understand, though he barely understood it himself. 

“Doesn’t make any sense when I say it out loud, but you have to believe it did at the time.  And once I started down that path, couldn’t very well swerve off it, could I, not even when I realized I’d been an idiot.”  He shuffled his feet, wishing for a cigarette, or worse, a drink.  “Came this close to telling you the truth last year.  Wanted to, when you started quoting Tennyson at me, but I was afraid.  Terrified.  And then I accidentally – _accidentally_ – overheard you talking to Willow.  At the coffee shop.  You were telling her how disappointed you’d be if I turned out to be William, and I couldn’t do it.”  Buffy regarded him steadily, but she didn’t say a word.

“By the time you’d warmed to me, I had no bloody clue how to tell you, but I knew I had to.  And I was.  Going to.  Sunday, remember?  Was going to share my entire, pathetic life with you,” he said with a hopeful smile.

Buffy remained impassive.  “So you say.  It’s easy to claim you were going to do something after the fact.”

“That’s not-”

“I could almost believe you.  If you didn’t make it a habit to lie to me.”

“I don’t-”

“You do, though.”  He stared, thunderstruck, as she continued.  “I’m sorry, Spike, but I really don’t think we can work this out.”

“What, wait, no – we haven’t had a proper conversation yet.”  Buffy’s lip wobbled, but she squared her shoulders and turned to leave.  “No, don’t go.”  Spike grabbed hold of her arm.  “Buffy, pet – please.  You said you didn’t care what stupid choices I’d made.  You said you _loved_ me.”

She looked into his eyes, blinking back unshed tears as her composure began to break.  Her voice was very soft when she replied.  “I’d have to trust you to love you, and I don’t think I could ever trust you enough for that.”

Something snapped inside, and Spike began to pace in the tiny space, hands balled into fists, too agitated to remain apologetic.  “Oh, that’s just bloody priceless, isn’t it?  I know you’re not dumb, Buffy.  You saw me struggling to tell you, more than once.  Know you did.  You can’t seriously think it’s all been some game to me.”

“That’s just the problem.  I don’t know what to think.  And it’s not– maybe you don’t deserve my mistrust, and if that’s the case, then I’m just as wrong as you are, but it’s how I feel and I can’t let it go.  So it’s no good either way.  You deserve somebody who believes in you as much as I deserve somebody I’m not always going to be doubting.”  Buffy hugged herself, and Spike stilled, suddenly aware of the tear streaks on her face.  She looked so lost.  He’d done that, to the woman he claimed to love. 

Maybe she was right.  Maybe it was no good.

“Anyhow,” she said with a sniffle.  “Looks like I’m going to be travelling with the band for the foreseeable future, so this is probably as good a time to call it quits as any.  I’ll be off touring, you’re headed back to your own rising star…”

Spike shook his head violently.  “Not if…  What I said to Jessica – it was one of those moments where I blurted out whatever the hell was running through my head without thinking it through.  I wasn’t serious ‘bout moving back to London.  You should have sussed that out when I spent the entire day reading the classifieds with you, looking for a flat.”

Buffy spoke to the ground, her voice heavy.  “You’re presuming I don’t subscribe to the theory that you were just stringing me along.”  When she raised her eyes again, they were filled with the warmth he had feared he would never again see directed at him again.  “You have a chance to live out your dreams, Spike.  Take it.”

“You’re my dream, Buffy, don’t you see?  Without you, can’t much say as I give a damn.”  Spike dared to close the distance between them.  When she didn't move away, he took her into his arms, almost melting to the floor in relief when she sagged against him.  He tightened his grip.  “Never gonna stop believing is us, Buffy.  Never gonna stop fighting for you.”  She moved to hold him back, and Spike thought for one delirious moment that he’d managed to fix things, somehow.

Until she whispered a chaste kiss across his lips and pulled out of his embrace.

“Be well, Spike.”

 


	32. Chapter 32

Walking away from Spike was the hardest thing Buffy had ever done.  All she wanted was to stay in the safety of his embrace and let their bodies do the talking.  Let the comforting sound of his heartbeat soothe away her pain.  Forget the bad, and remember why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.  It would have been so easy to slip back into a relationship with Spike and hope it all worked out, but Buffy had been serious when she’d said he deserved better.  Because she wouldn’t be able to trust him, not anymore, and how could a relationship last without trust? 

No, better to walk away now she told herself, forcing her feet down the hall and out into the sunshine.  She had her band to focus on, and he had his.  Despite his claims that fame meant nothing compared to her, Buffy didn’t believe him.  Oh, she was sure _he_ believed it, but if he gave up his dreams to be with her, she felt certain that one day, five or ten years down the road, he’d view her with resentment.  She hoped a clean, firm break would give him the freedom he needed to choose his band over her.  Even with the pain he’d caused, the anger she still felt, Buffy wanted Spike to succeed. 

Alone in her house later that night, Buffy considered his words more carefully, wondering if he’d been telling the truth or still prevaricating.  After much thought, and careful examination of her memories of the past few weeks, she decided his feelings for her were sincere.  She didn’t think he’d been stringing her along.  Unfortunately, whether or not Spike loved her wasn’t Buffy’s only concern.  Their problems were so much more complex than that. 

Angel had been screwing other women the entire time he’d been planning a life with her, and Buffy recognized that, whatever his flaws, Angel had loved her in his own way, and had been serious about marrying.  So Spike’s claim that he was planning to settle in Sunnydale and build a life with her, not run off to play rock star, did little to sway her.  People could mean two things at once.  She’d found that out the hard way.  No matter how much Spike believed he loved her, that she was his life and he would be more honest than honest Abe from here on out, Angel’s words of warning rang in her head.  _A leopard can’t change its spots_.  Angel had been referring to fidelity, and Buffy, hurt as she was, didn’t dismiss the idea that Spike could be unfaithful.  But what concerned her more was his habit of lying to her.  Out of fear, he’d claimed, but whatever the reason, Spike-slash-William had lied to her.  More than once.  How could she believe him ever again?

She supposed couples rebuilt trust all the time, but Buffy had been burned too many times to have faith in the types of men she chose as boyfriends, no matter how much her heart wanted her to give him a second chance. 

Even as she argued against it, her traitorous body reached for her cell, all set to call Spike and ask him to come over and explain again.  A part of her hoped that this time he’d have just the right words to make all her fears fade away.  She shook her head.  A clean break, she reminded herself.  It was for the best.

After replacing her phone into her purse for a fourth time, Buffy began to pace.  She’d been busy almost every minute since she’d broken up with Spike, but now she was alone and unoccupied, and it was almost impossible to resist the lure of calling him.  She needed a distraction.  Quickly, she ran through her options.  Her mom and Dawn were in Oregon, and Willow was spending time with Oz before she had to leave this weekend.  As much as she loved Giles like a father, hanging out with him would be far too awkward at the moment, especially after the tongue-lashing she’d given him once she’d realized he’d participated in Spike’s deception.  Buffy got along fine with Sam and the Troll, but they weren’t exactly buddies.  Which left one option. 

Xander.

Anya was prickly about sharing Xander outside of group nights, but Buffy figured this was for a good cause, and the other woman would understand.  Hopefully.  “Hey Anya,” Buffy said when she got her on the line.  “Xander home?”

“He’s out.”

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“Spike tends to keep him out very late, so I don’t expect he’ll be home before midnight.  It’s very upsetting.  It cuts into our private time considerably, which is both rude and thoughtless.”

Buffy couldn’t believe she’d heard Anya properly.  “He’s with _Spike_?”

“Yes.  It’s this whole buddy thing they’ve started.  I find it all very confusing, what with their acrimonious past and the fact that I can’t even say hello to Spike without Xander getting jealous and possessive.  But he tells me it’s important to him so I’m trying not to complain.  Nobody likes a nag,” she said in a brittle, cheerful voice.

Anya wasn’t the only one who was confused.  “Oh.  Well, that’s…”  She couldn’t think of a way to complete her sentence.  “So what are you doing?  Need company?”  Buffy had never spent solo time with Anya, but it was that or go crazy.

“I’m watching the Bachelorette and painting my nails, both of which are considered appropriate female bonding activities.  If you wish to keep me company, you can bring your own nail polish and suitable snack foods to complete the bonding experience.”

And then again, maybe it was a choice of go crazy or go crazy.  But at least she wouldn’t go crazy alone.  “Snack foods coming right up,” she said.

 

*******

 

Buffy found herself in the same predicament a few days later, and again she turned to Anya when Xander was unavailable.  This time she was still there when Xander returned home, Spike in tow.  She and Anya glanced up at the door as it swung open, unconcerned, and then Buffy heard Spike’s voice, and all the air seemed to disappear from the room.

She’d managed to avoid him since last they’d spoken, ignoring the handful of calls and emails he’d sent her, as well as the beautiful bouquet of roses.  She was determined to stick to her plan of a clean break.  It broke her heart to see how ragged he appeared, how guarded his face became when he realized her presence.  Xander stood frozen in the doorway, looking between them.

“Hi,” she tried to chirp, but it came out a croak.  “You know, I was just going…”  Spike stood silent, watchful.  Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes off of him.  “Right.  So…”

He turned away from her and spoke to Xander.  “I’ll be on my way.”

“No, no, you guys do your thing, don’t let me bother you.”  Buffy hopped to her feet, insanely perky.  “Night Anya, it was fun!”  She barreled towards the door, and Spike was forced to step out of her way, his hands clenched into fists. 

Buffy made it down the stairs and onto the sidewalk before he caught up to her.  “Let me give you a ride?”

“Spike…”

He offered her a crooked smile.  “Surely you know how I feel ‘bout your wandering ‘round town on your own this late at night.  Please.”

She hesitated, then relented. Buffy wasn't concerned about her safety, since it was only a few blocks to her house, but she couldn’t avoid Spike forever.  Until one of them left Sunnydale, he would be a part of her life, and they were going to have to figure out how to get past this awkward stage.  “Thank you.”

They rode in uncomfortable silence until they reached her house, and as Spike pulled up alongside the curb, Buffy was hit with a sense of déjà vu so strong it almost doubled her over.  How many nights had they sat like just this in the last few months?  So many that their separation suddenly felt unreal to her, as if the intervening weeks had never occurred.

Buffy tucked her hands under her armpits to stop herself from reaching out to touch him.  “How have you been?”

“Don’t think you want to hear the answer to that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I am, kitten.”

The pet name stabbed her in the heart.  It was such a Spike thing, something she’d secretly loved from the first.  She raised her eyes to his.  They were full of longing and hope, hope she couldn’t let linger.  “I miss you,” she said.  “Every minute of every day.”  The hope flared brighter.  “It doesn’t change anything between us, Spike.  We’re not…  There is no us, not anymore.  But you and I, we’re going to have to talk, because our lives overlap.  I want to be able to be civil – friendly, even – without worrying that you’re getting the wrong impression.”

“I can’t believe that.  I have to believe there’s a chance.”

“There is no chance, Spike.  I’ll never be able to forgive you for what you did.”  Harsh, and untrue – Buffy could imagine forgiving him given time – but necessary.  Her words sunk in, and it was like watching a sunset die.  The light faded from his eyes, leaving his face gaunt.  “I’m sorry,” she said again, and slipped out of the car.

 

*******

 

Buffy’s cruel words to Spike mocked her in the coming days.  Any time he smiled at her, she was halfway to giving him the chance she’d claimed she never would.  He did his utmost to be charming and sweet the next time the Dingoes played the Bronze.  He used his business contacts to help them book a recording studio at cut-rate costs, then accompanied them on recording day to make sure they got the best sound.  Even worse, he sang back-up vocals on a few of the tracks.  Her body hadn’t gotten the message yet that it was no longer appropriate to get completely lusty over Spike singing, and when he looked at her with undisguised longing, she almost forgot why she’d broken up with him in the first place.

There was, she decided, only one way to stay strong.  She needed a rebound boyfriend.  Somebody to keep her occupied and send Spike the message that it was time to move on.  Maybe it was a stupid idea, but… what else could she do?

Her decision was strengthened when Spike began to email her daily, long emails in which he left no detail of his life unexposed to her perusal, with snippets of poetry interspersed.  William… Spike.  Which was the mask, and which was the real man?  Having the two suddenly overlap was painful and confusing.  After skimming the first two emails, filled with aspects of both Spike and William, she sent the rest unread into a folder buried inside another folder, where she wouldn’t see it constantly.  It was too much, and she couldn’t process it.  She’d made her decision, both for her benefit and for Spike’s.  Buffy told herself it was better this way each time she buried another unread email.

She turned to Anya, trusting the blunt woman to understand when she asked her to help.  “Pick out one of my fans,” Buffy said.  “A nice man, one I’m going to like.  You tell me which one, and I won’t turn him down when he approaches me.”

Anya did, and Buffy didn’t.

 

*******

 

Spike paced the alleyway, smoking.  It had been almost four weeks since she’d kicked him to the curb, and though Buffy seemed to have softened towards him, he hadn’t made any real progress in winning her back.  He only had another week before the Dingoes left on tour, and Spike didn’t kid himself he had any chance once she left.  The booking agent they’d signed with had them going non-stop for three months, and while he was thrilled for the band, it didn’t bode well for him.

Emails, flowers, charm – none of it had worked yet.  He’d even taken a chance and sent her the occasional poem, including one he’d penned himself.  Complete honesty, what Buffy had demanded from him, hadn’t been enough, so maybe it was time for something more drastic.

He had one last idea.

 

*******

 

Playing the Bronze was still awkward, knowing Spike was in the crowd – never mind the memories – but it wasn’t the band’s fault they’d had a bad breakup.  They didn’t deserve to be punished for it, nor did the fan base.  And the fans deserved a treat, since the Dingoes wouldn’t be back for three whole months.  Brad had them travelling all up and down the coastline, visiting clubs both large and small, and playing a few house parties as well.  There was even a county fair or two on the schedule.  Buffy was excited, and more than a little nervous.  Fame and fortune had never been her dream – she’d planned on starting a full-time job once the summer was over – but all those plans had changed in the blink of an eye.  Now her days were filled with preparing for the tour, getting the merch ready, and working out how to maximize their exposure.  At least her degree wasn’t useless:  Buffy Summers, singer _and_ publicist for the Dingoes.  If exposure was half the battle, then the Dingoes were already there thanks to her efforts of the last few weeks.

Tonight they would play only a single set.  Devon wasn’t completely healed, and they didn’t want him overtaxed before they even left Sunnydale.  She helped the lead singer fiddle with the microphones, ruminating on how strange it was to be on this side of the stage full-time rather than on the club manager side of things.  She glanced down at the early crowd, and Ben waved at her.  Buffy waved back, a small, guilty finger-waggle.

She’d brought the handsome, chestnut-haired intern along to help her resist the temptation of Spike, but half-wished she hadn’t.  Buffy liked Ben.  Anya had chosen well, she had to admit.  The problem, simply put, was that Ben wasn’t Spike.  Ben would never be Spike, and Spike was what her stupid, idiotic heart wanted.  Spike and William both.

 _You still wanted Angel after you broke up, remember?_ she told herself sternly.  _It took you a long time to move on, but you did.  Because you had to.  This is just the same_.

The guilty feeling at using Ben, who had no clue how damaged she was, wouldn’t recede.  Buffy sighed and told her conscience they were only dating casually.  It wasn’t as though she’d promised him her heart, or even that things would continue once she left in a week.  Hell, they hadn’t even kissed properly yet.  She didn’t have anything for her conscience to twinge over.

But if her conscience was prodding her about Ben, it was going haywire over how Ben’s presence might affect Spike.  Just because she hoped her couple-y-ness with a new man would prove a point to Spike – to move on – it didn’t mean the idea wasn’t making her miserable and heartsick.  She knew Spike had issues with cold-hearted, indifferent rejection, issues Xander of all people had angrily reminded her of when he caught wind of her plan, but she was too caught in a haze of misery to see how else to end things for once and for all.

Buffy turned away from the crowd and girded herself for a long, painful night.

When Spike took the stage after the Dingoes, acoustic guitar in hand, she realized painful wasn’t even going to cover it.  She hurried towards Ben, and tried hard not to listen to Spike’s voice as he joked about missing singing with the Dingoes.  All she wanted was to get out of there before his impromptu and unexpected performance could begin.

“I wrote this song because I don’t know how else to prove myself.” 

Buffy paused, and turned to face the stage before she could stop herself.  Spike hadn’t said her name, but it was plain he was speaking to her, and from the curious glances others sent her way, she wasn’t the only one to realize it.  He caught her gaze and began to strum, a beautiful, evocative melody that further pulled her under his spell.  Buffy willed herself not to hear the words, but with the way his blue eyes held hers, it was a losing battle.  Despite her best efforts, she listened, breathless, as he sang.  Spike’s melodic expressions of remorse and promises of devotion wormed their way inside her head, making her heart ache, and Buffy found herself moving closer to the stage without meaning to.  She ground to a halt, blinking rapidly in an effort to regain control of her spiraling emotions. 

Promises – that’s all they were.  Not guarantees.  She’d trusted Spike and it had bit her in the ass – and in the heart.  She was _not_ going to be so foolish again.  She was going to stick to the plan.  Spinning away, Buffy found Ben, and, knowing Spike’s eyes were upon her, pulled him into a heated kiss.

 

*******

 

When Buffy had inched closer to the stage, expression longing, tears in her eyes, Spike thought he’d finally made an inroad with her.  Knocked down a bit of the wall she’d erected around her heart.  Which was why he was completely unprepared for her next action.

She turned away from him and strode towards some bloke didn’t know but had seen about, and then – he couldn’t believe his eyes – kissed the bastard.  Spike wasn’t sure how he made to the end of the song – a song baring his heart to the same girl getting hot and heavy with another man mere feet away – but he did.  He stuttered a thank you and lurched from the stage, not yet sure whether he was headed to the loo to vomit, the bar to get trashed, or the dance floor to – fucked if he knew what.  Scream.  Cry.  Beg.  Pound the wanker’s face in. 

Pounding seemed to be winning, especially when Devon caught his eye from backstage.  “Harsh, man,” he said, voice full of sympathy, and it took all of Spike’s meager self-control not to turn on the other singer.  It had been torture enough to watch Buffy sing and flirt with Devon earlier, despite knowing it was all a performance.  The caveman in him had wanted to storm the stage and grab Devon away, rip his arms off for daring to touch Buffy, then beat him senseless with said arms.  Devon’s unwanted sympathy was almost enough to make Spike forget the man didn’t deserve his jealous rage.  He narrowed his eyes.  Somebody else did, though.

He found himself restrained from behind, a soothing voice whispering in his ear.  “Let it go, Spike,” Oz was saying.  “You go out there swinging, you’ll lose Buffy forever.”  It took several repeats before he ceased struggling, the words sinking in.  _Forever_.

Which meant, what?  Oz thought he had a chance?

“What do you know, Papa Smurf?” he muttered when Oz released him, glaring at the shorter man’s bright blue hair.

“I know you’re going want to learn from your previous mistakes.”  Spike’s glare turned more menacing, but Oz didn’t back down.  “Right now is when you make that choice.  Of who you are, deep down inside.  What kind of man you what to be.”

Shoulders slumping, Spike said hoarsely, “I hate you.”

Oz shrugged.  “I can live with that.”

Spike rolled his head about his neck, trying to relieve some of his tension.  He was slouched against the wall, contemplating his latest failure, when he was hit with sudden clarity. 

He’d tried.  God, how he’d tried.  He’d done his best, given it his all, and there was nothing left for him to do.  He couldn’t prove himself to Buffy if she wouldn’t even give him a chance, and she’d made it sodding well clear his opportunities were past.

Heart heavy, he made his way to the back office and closed the door, then cradled his head in his hands and began to cry.

 

*******

 

Buffy couldn’t stop reliving the memory.  Of how she’d had to force herself to kiss Ben, of how it had taken every ounce of her determination not to tear herself away and beg Spike’s forgiveness the moment she heard his voice catch mid-song.  She’d felt like her heart was going to rupture. 

She felt like maybe she deserved it.

Her plan – her stupid, _stupid_ plan, the one that she wished she could take back – had worked, though.  Must have.  Because Spike had returned to London before the week was out without so much as a goodbye, leaving Buffy reeling with shock when she realized it wasn’t what she wanted after all.  She wanted Spike, fears and insecurities and consequences be damned.

But it was too late now.

 


	33. Chapter 33

 

“How you doing, Mom?”

Joyce's eyes cracked open, and her hand fell back onto the covers.  “I’m alive,” she croaked.  “I think.”

“Just the way we like you!”  Buffy’s extra-chipper voice rang false in her ears, but she couldn’t help it.  Happy, happy Buffy, that’s who she had to be.  She had to be the strong one for her mom, for her sister, even for Giles.  “Surgery is in three days, and then you’ll be good as new.  Better even.  One hundred percent improved.”  Her mother winced and shut her eyes once more.  “Too much with the positive?”

“Maybe a little.  Just sit with me, sweetie.”

Buffy did, sitting silently by her side and trying not to fidget, but her foot soon began a restless tapping, and it was almost a relief when her mom slid back into slumber.  It left her the freedom to pace the small hospital room while her thoughts and emotions ran amok inside her skull.  When Dawn had accidentally spilled the beans a month ago about their mom’s headaches and declining health, Buffy had been livid to discover both her family and Giles had conspired to keep the news from her.  “The doctors couldn’t find anything, so it’s not as if there was anything to tell you,” Joyce had explained when Buffy had flown home, skipping her last two performances of the Dingoes’ third tour.  “And you were just finishing up your big tour.  I know how fickle fans can be.  You needed to stay in the spotlight, keep their focus on you.  There’s time enough for Mom later.”

Except it had turned out to be far more serious than anybody had anticipated, and now there was a good chance there wouldn’t be time for Mom later after all.  The doctors hoped the upcoming operation would successfully remove Joyce’s brain tumor, but Buffy was more focused on the word _hope_ and less on the word _successful_.

A rap sounded at the door, and Giles entered.  “How is she?” he whispered.

“Sleeping.”  They both turned their gaze upon Joyce’s supine form, and Buffy leaned against his shoulder as he put his arm around her.

“Good.  She needs her rest.”

“She does.  Now that you’re here, I’m going to go do that thing.  Update the website with my decision not to go on tour with the Dingoes when they leave next week, and all the fun little details why.”  The fans had been asking about her disappearance since last month, and until now, all the band had said was ‘family emergency’.  Even though Buffy was abdicating her role as co-singer, she’d promised the others to keep on as publicist, not that it had appeased Devon in any way.  Furious with her decision, he’d told her that if she made the choice to leave the band, not to expect to be welcomed back.  Ever.  It had been an easy choice.  Being famous was never Buffy’s dream, though it had been fun for a while, and she did miss singing.  Some things were more important, though.

After placing a soft kiss on her mother’s wan cheek, Buffy left the hospital, using the walk home in the bright afternoon sun to clear her mind.  It was funny how things changed.  She’d been a college student only a year ago, with no further aspirations than to land a good P.R job.  But somehow over the course of the summer, she’d become a budding rock star, on the road chasing fortune and fame.  And now, with summer here once more, her life had done another one-eighty.  She’d given up singing to play at art gallery manager in her mother’s stead, and home hospice worker on the side.

Inside her house, she flipped on the radio to keep her company while she tidied the kitchen, clearing away the remains of their hurried breakfast.  Dawn was on art gallery duty today and would be home soon, which meant Buffy had to think about dinner as well.  She wondered if her sister would be up for pizza.  Again.

She was just putting a clean glass away when her fingers went numb, and the glass slipped through her limp grasp to shatter on the floor below.  Buffy stood frozen in astonishment, unaware of the beads of blood forming on her bare legs. 

_That voice_.  She knew that deep, sexy voice emanating from her radio, would know it anywhere.  Buffy gripped the counter, eyes shut tight while the words unfurled in her kitchen, as though the singer were only steps away. 

_Surrounded by stories surreal and sublime, I fell in love in the library once upon a time._

Not only was it Spike, but it was Spike singing about _her_.  About them.  She’d never heard the song, but unless her ex had made it a habit to fall in love in libraries, the lyrics could only be about their first meeting.  The constant ache she’d once felt at his absence in her life and since learned to repress slammed back into her with the sudden, devastating force of a Mack truck.  Buffy let the sound of his voice wash over her, let the stark emotion in Spike’s tone remind her of the depth of his feelings for her. 

Once upon a time.

The song ended, cutting to a commercial break, and Buffy slowly came back to awareness.  She’d kept tabs on Edge of Insanity through their website and through Giles.  She knew they’d rocketed into stardom overseas and were now touring the east coast of the United States, but this was the first time she’d heard their music on the radio.  She wiped the tears from her eyes, feeling a little bit foolish to have reacted so strongly.  Despite the shock, she felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach.  If Spike’s band was receiving radio playtime on the L.A. station she was tuned to, it meant they would soon be popular here as well, maybe even coming on tour sometime in the near future.  Her stomach fluttered at the idea of Spike back in California.

The pain in her shins caused Buffy to glance down.  Startled by the small rivulets of blood snaking their way down her legs, she reached for a paper towel to wipe them up.  She was just cleaning up the last of the glass when the DJ returned and announced a Dingoes song up next.  She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it, and hoped maybe it was a sign.  Of what, Buffy wasn’t quite sure, but a sign none-the-less. 

 

*******

 

Spike snuck into Joyce’s room well after visiting hours were over, hurrying past the nurse’s station when the sole nurse on duty turned her back.  He’d be back tomorrow morning, when the surgery was scheduled to occur, but any lucid moments Joyce had then belonged to her daughters, not him.  This was his was only chance at a private moment with the older woman.  He hoped she would be awake so he could give her his best in person, but all was silent when he tiptoed into the room.  Rupert had warned him she’d likely be drugged, but no matter.  He would have a quiet visit, watch over her for a piece, and hope that deep in her subconscious she knew he was there.

When an hour’s time had passed, he left for his uncle’s. 

“How was she?” Rupert asked.

“Asleep.  Peaceful.”  He didn’t add his other observations, his surprise at the usually vibrant woman’s thinness and pallor, or the dark circles under her eyes.  His uncle didn’t need the reminder that the woman he loved was deathly ill.

Rupert grimaced.  “Yes, well.  I’ll be turning in now that you’re here.  Early morning tomorrow.  Are you all set?”

Spike waved him off.  “Still remember where everything is, ‘less you’ve done a spot of reorganizing in the last year?”  Not likely, and his uncle shook his head in confirmation.  “Ta, then.”  As his uncle trundled off, Spike braved his way to the bedroom that had once been his.  His and Buffy’s, for a short while.  He flicked the lights on, braced for a flood of memories wrapped in pain, but was hit with no more than a gentle sense of disappointment and nostalgia.  He frowned, surprised.  Did the lack of anguish mean he was over the woman of his dreams?  Spike dug deep, rooting around in his mind and heart.

No, she was still there.  Buffy had a firm grip on his heart, and Spike suspected she would never let go.  As he readied himself for bed, he realized that while his affection hadn’t dimmed in the least, his attitude concerning her was what had changed.  He knew he had fucked up with Buffy.  Repeatedly.  He’d fucked up, but he’d done his best to make amends, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d… not given up.  But gone on to live his life.  Make something of himself, be somebody he knew his mother would be proud of, at least.  He rather thought he hadn’t turned out half-bad, in the long run.

Now the ball was in Buffy’s court, and if she refused to acknowledge the depth of his feelings for her, or realize that despite his mistakes he might still be worthy of her trust and affection in return, then there was nothing more he could do about it. 

As the conclusions raced through his head, Spike felt a load lifted from his shoulders.  While he’d come for Joyce, he was here for Buffy as well.  But he’d been dreading seeing her tomorrow morning, not knowing how she would treat him.  He’d followed her career avidly, and kept in contact with Dawn, gleaning information about Buffy’s life from her younger sister, but he still had no clue what her feelings towards him were.  Buffy had been quite clear that she was through with him last year, making a statement the way she had that night in the Bronze, when he’d poured his heart out from the stage – a statement that would have, months prior, sent him down the path of self-sabotage once again.  He’d considered doing the same in his darkest hours.  Without Buffy, what had it mattered if he drank his way to a lonely death?  Life had seemed empty without Drusilla, but that pain had been nothing compared to the pain of losing Buffy.

So, yes, he’d considered surrendering himself to a haze of alcohol and meaningless sex.  Spike had learned his lesson, though.  More than that, a number of people he hadn’t even realized were friends had taken him under their wing and refused to let him turn destructive, Xander foremost among them.  One of Buffy’s best friends designating himself Spike’s sponsor had been surprise enough, but it had been nothing compared to Xander’s reaction to Buffy kissing another man.  Xander had been furious.  He’d ranted about her stupid decisions, and had even gone so far as to tell Spike Buffy wasn’t worth the heartache she’d caused.  Spike didn’t agree with Xander for a minute – Buffy was more than worth it, and while he’d been devastated by her actions, he understood why she’d done it.  He’d forgiven her almost immediately.  Even so, it had been nice to have somebody take his side.

The guilt over his screw-ups with Buffy was still there, but it was no longer debilitating, nor was his fear of rejection.  Spike loved her, he always would, but he could carry on with his life, however empty it might be, if she never loved him back.

 

*******

 

Come morning, Spike rode with his uncle to the hospital, heart pitter-pattering at the thought of seeing Buffy again, as nervous as a boy on a first date despite his revelations of the night before.  “She know I’m coming?” he asked.

Rupert frowned.  “Joyce?”

“Buffy.”

“Spike, even I wasn’t aware you were going to be here until you rang me from the airport last night.  I haven’t had the chance to speak with anybody else since then.”

“Oh.  Right.”  His knee began to bounce inside the tiny car, which prompted a fierce look from his uncle.  “Sorry.”

“You’re not to cock things up, you understand?  Today is about Joyce, not what happened between you and Buffy.”

“Know that, don’t I?” Spike sputtered indignantly.

His uncle sighed.  “Yes, I know you do.  I’m sorry, I’m bloody nervous as hell.  The less stress today…”

“The better.  Fully on board with you.”  He drummed his fingers on his knee.  “Maybe I should wait in the lobby.  Not cause more of a scene.”

Rupert shook his head.  “Joyce will be pleased you are here, and if Joyce is pleased, Buffy will be pleased.”  Spike refrained from asking if Buffy would be pleased in her own right.

In the parking lot, Spike looked up at the hospital façade, all glass and chrome, windows winking in the sun.  He took a steadying breath, and forced back the memories of hours spent in a hospital at his mother’s bedside.  “Into the breach we go,” he said.  “Game faces on.”

Upstairs, he waited outside the door while Giles knocked and entered, and listened to the murmur of his uncle’s voice blending with those of the Summers women.  “Brought a surprise visitor along,” Giles said after some time, and Spike poked his head inside the door, a smile plastered on his face.  He saw Buffy start from the corner of his eye, but he kept his focus on the pale woman in the hospital bed.  “’Lo Joyce.  How you feeling?”

Joyce’s surprise was muted, her smile tired.  “Spike.  I didn’t know you were here.”

Buffy rose from her seat, silently gesturing for him to take the bedside chair.  He dared a glance at her and was greeted by her guarded expression.  “Thanks,” he said, offering her a genuine smile as she retreated to the corner of the room.  She nodded but said nothing, and Spike sat and took Joyce’s hand.  “Flew in late last night.  Didn’t know if I’d be able to make it ‘til the last minute, so I didn’t bother saying anything,” he said.  “Just wanted to pop in and let you know I’m here, and I’ll talk to you later today, all right?  When you wake up, all good as new.”

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed his in return.  “Thanks.  It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Spike stood.  He pressed a kiss to her pallid cheek and moved to the doorway, where Dawn wrapped him in a tight hug.  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said into his chest.

“Had to move heaven and earth to make it happen, but yeah, I’m here.  I’ll be out in the hall, all right Bit?  Go on and be with your mum now.”  His shirt was wet when she pulled away, nodding.  Spike looked back at Buffy, who had taken her chair back and was sitting in much the same position he had.  Dawn moved to the other side, Summers girls flanking their mother.  He swallowed, remembering what it was like to know these could be your last moments with your mother.  Trying to put on a brave face for her sake while wanting nothing more that to curl up into her side like a small child and let her comfort you.  Heart heavy, he went out into the hallway to begin his vigil.

Before long, Willow joined him.  “Red,” he said.

“Spike.  I didn’t know you were here.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes, realizing he was doomed to hear that particular phrase repeatedly today.  “Stealth attack visit.  How you been?  Graduate school treating you well?”

Willow waxed enthusiastic and launched into a description of her coursework that he mostly ignored, nodding in all the right places while his mind returned to Buffy, trying to suss out if she’d been pleased to see him or not.  The redhead must have followed his train of thought, because before long she said, “So have you and Buffy talked?  Recently?”

Spike shrugged and picked at the black polish on his nails.  “Not as such.”  Willow raised an eyebrow.  “Fine, not at all.  Think me being here’s going to be an issue for her?”

It was her turn to shrug.  “We haven’t discussed you in awhile.  I couldn’t say.”

“She’s moved on, then?  Got herself a new beau?” he asked, hoping she’d divulge Buffy’s secrets.

Willow’s reply was short.  “She’s been busy.  With Joyce.”

“Oh, right.  Of course.”  They stood in awkward silence.  Eventually, he said, “How are things with Oz?”

Her enthusiasm returned, and by the time the medical staff arrived outside Joyce’s door, Spike knew all there was to know about their long-distance relationship, as well as Oz’s life on the road.  “This is it, then,” he said when the orderlies entered.  Willow clutched at his arm and they watched, mute, as Joyce was wheeled by, Buffy and Dawn trailing after her. 

“Good luck,” Willow called, then turned to Giles, who wrapped his arm around her.  “She’s going to be fine.  Right?”

“Of course she is.  I have every confidence the surgeons will perform to their utmost capabilities.”

The three of them made their way to the waiting room, where Buffy and Dawn joined them.  Buffy immediately set to pacing from one side of the room to the other, back and forth, back and forth.  Spike watched her from under lowered lashes while he pretended to peruse a magazine.  After a half hour of it, he rose and stretched, then ambled off to the lavatory, timing his return to intersect with Buffy on the opposite side of the waiting room from the small cluster of people seated together.  “Buffy,” he said, catching her attention.  His breath caught in his throat as she turned to face him.

“Spike.”  Her smile was strained, her body tense and fidgety, as though it took all her effort to remain in place.  “I didn’t know you were going to be here.  Don’t you have a show tonight?”

His heart skipped at the realization that she was familiar with his schedule.  Biting back a grin that would’ve been inappropriate considering the circumstances, he said, “I’ll have to leave this afternoon so I can make it back in time.”  He didn’t add that he’d blown a good part of his savings to charter a private jet in order to give him maximum visiting time in Sunnydale, with the hope that they’d know the outcome of the surgery before he had to leave.  What was the point of being on your way to rich and famous if it wasn’t for occasions like this, though?

Buffy stilled long enough to give him a proper smile.  “Thanks for coming.  You made Mom’s day.”

He ducked his head.  She hadn’t said anything about her day, but then, Buffy wouldn’t at a time like this.  “S’all worth it then.”  Spike grasped at something else to hold her attention, not ready to end their conversation.  “Can I get you something to drink?  Diet Coke?”

She took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, and he froze, not even daring to breathe.  “I can’t believe you’re really here.  It seems so surreal.”

Her hand was small and warm on his arm, her perfume as sweet and subtle as he remembered, and Spike had to fight the urge to crush her to him.  How could he have ever thought himself over her, even for a moment?  When her eyes softened and her lips parted, the urge to sweep her into a kiss became overwhelming, and the buzzing in his head almost drowned out her next words.  “I – I heard your song on the radio the other day.”  She looked down, cheeks pinkening.  “The one about the library?  It was very pretty.”

Staring down at her bent head, her long lashes barely visible on the curve of her cheek, Spike didn’t know what to say.  Did she know it was about her?  Of course she did.  He cleared his throat.  “It – that was the first one.  I wrote.  For… about you.  The first of many,” he added with a small laugh.

Buffy trailed her fingers down his arm, then twitched them away before she could make contact with his hand.  “I really liked it.  Gave me a bit of a shock, but I liked it.  I guess that means you’re famous now, huh?”  She glanced back up, expression solemn.

“Working on it, at any rate.”  They shared a smile.  Spike stood there moonstruck, grinning stupidly, until Buffy began to fidget once more.  “How long did the docs say the surgery ought to take?”

She rubbed her arms.  “Four hours, minimum.  So, we’ve got… at least three more hours to wait, probably way longer.”

He reached out to feather the backs of his knuckles over her cheek, suddenly realizing how pale and tired she looked as well.  Her eyes grew impossibly large.  “Have you eaten yet, pet?  Can I get you something?  Or better yet, take you somewhere, get a bit of a break from the smell of antiseptic?”

Buffy shook her head.  “I can’t eat a thing.  Not until…”

“How ‘bout we step outside, into the sun.  Take a breather.”

“I can’t leave.  I can’t.  What if…?”

“’Course.”

“Thanks for the offer.”  She bit her lip.  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that diet Coke, though.”

When he returned with her drink she was huddled with the others, Dawn leaning against her shoulder.  Spike handed it to her silently, and she took it with a grateful nod, then went back to stroking her sister’s hair and murmuring comforting words.  Before long, Oz joined them.  He exchanged greetings with Spike, and they spoke about their respective tours for a few minutes before the shorter man went to take his girlfriend’s hand.  Much later, Anya walked in to the waiting room. 

“I only have a few minutes.  My boss let me take an early, early lunch.  Any news?”

Buffy shook her head, and Anya frowned.  “Well, no news is probably good news at this point.  Otherwise it would mean…”  She winced.  “So, I’ll call Xander and let him know.  Oh, and he said he thought he could be here after lunch.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said.  “And thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” the other woman replied.  She sat with them for a little while before heading back to work.

The assembled group switched positions again.  Buffy conferred with Willow while Giles paced, Oz read, and Spike kept Dawn company.  A young man in scrubs walked into the room, drawing everybody’s attention, and Buffy jumped to her feet as he neared her.  “Ben,” she said.  “What’s up?”

Spike watched the doctor as he spoke, trying to place his vaguely familiar face.  “I just went by the operating theater,” he was saying.  “Looks like everything is going as expected.  Your mother’s vitals are strong.”

“Oh, thank god.”  She sagged forward, collapsing into him as he offered her his arms.  “You are officially my favorite person ever,” she added as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Spike’s eyes widened in recognition.

The last time he’d seen Buffy, she’d been kissing this very same man.

 


	34. Chapter 34

 

Buffy kissed Ben’s cheek, giving form to her gratitude for his small piece of good news.  He tightened his embrace, and she returned it for a moment before extricating herself with a gentle smile.  Ben went into further detail, but Buffy found herself distracted by the sight of a pale-faced Spike lurching to his feet and almost flying out of the room, moving so fast Dawn toppled into the empty place his shoulder had been only moments earlier.

It took her several seconds before she understood the sudden cause of his distress, and her chest constricted when she realized Spike had probably misinterpreted her kiss.  Buffy thanked Ben, barely aware as he left, preoccupied by thoughts of Spike.

She frowned, guilt warring with anger, and anger winning out as the more comfortable emotion.  Who did Spike think he was?  He had no right to be pissy with her, not when he’d been the one to leave without a backwards glance, or even a single attempt to contact her after swearing he’d never give up.  The guilty corner of her mind whispered that it was her fault; she’d driven him to the point where he’d no longer wanted anything to do with her, and had done it with Ben no less.  Could she really blame him for being angry?

Yes, she decided.  Hell, yes.  However it had happened, he’d _left_.  He had no say so in who she kissed – or didn’t as the case may be.  Especially not on a day like today, when her mother’s life hung in the balance. 

An ugly part of her was certain Spike had spent the last year taking advantage the very willing groupies who’d no doubt thrown themselves at him, making a hypocrite out of him, and she clung to that thought as she charged out of the waiting room after him.

Buffy found him down the hall, muttering curses and kicking at plastic chairs.  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Spike spun to face her, a sneer on his face.  “Sorry if I don’t want to watch you sucking face with your new boy toy.”

“I was _not_ sucking face, you stupid jerk, and even if I was, it’s none of your damn business.  Which is what broken up means, savvy?  You don’t have any say in my life, Spike.”

“And thank god for that.” 

Buffy took a step backwards, more hurt than she’d have thought possible by his words.  “Then why are you even here?”

He narrowed his eyes.  “You really have to ask me that?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”  Buffy glared at him, hands on her hips, too angry to acknowledge she knew Spike had come to offer her mother support, and too hurt to admit she was glad he had.

With a disbelieving laugh, he said, “You never really knew me, did you Summers?”

 “And whose fault is that?  _William_?” she spat before she could stop herself.

Spike’s nostrils flared as he visibly bit back a retort, and then his shoulders slumped.  “Fuck this,” he muttered.  “You get any news, I’ll be in the lobby.”  He strode away without another word, leaving Buffy to swallow her tears and trudge back to the waiting room, wondering if she could have screwed up anymore if she’d tried.

 

*******

 

It was times like this that made Spike wish he hadn’t given up all his vices.  Any one of them would do right now – a fag, a drink, a warm and willing woman – anything to calm his nerves and soothe the guilt he harbored.  One request from his uncle – one.

_Today is not about you and Buffy.  Don’t cock it up_.

He supposed he still had a vice left after all – being an asshole.  And he couldn’t even blame Buffy; he was the one who’d started it by storming off when another man had been the one to offer her comfort.

Part of him wanted to head back and apologize, but the larger part of him was afraid to bollocks things up anymore than he had, put any more pressure on Buffy’s shoulders.  The girl had enough to deal with at the moment.  Spike sighed, torn between walking away before he could do any more damage and not wanting to leave until he knew the outcome of Joyce’s surgery.

 

*******

 

The others shot her a curious glance when she reentered the waiting room, but Buffy didn’t say anything, and they didn’t ask.  Which was of the good, because she didn’t know if she’d be able to hold back the waterworks if she had to open her mouth to speak.  Her eyes burned as she plunked herself down in a hard plastic chair across the room from everybody else and settled in to wait, as hyperaware of Spike’s absence as she’d been of his earlier presence. 

For a year now, she’d wanted the chance to talk to him again, but like her mom with Giles, had been too afraid to try, too certain he would reject her after the way she’d treated him.  Now that she finally had the chance, she’d screwed it up, attacking rather than reconciling.  If only she had her mom’s diplomatic ways and gentle touch, maybe she might have handled it better.  Of course, Giles had been more than willing to forgive her mom, which had made reconciliation for the older couple easy.  If Spike wasn’t willing to forgive her, her own actions wouldn’t have made much of a difference either way.  The thought was painful.  She spent the next hour alternating between feeling guilty about Spike and worrying over her mother, neither train of thought doing her upset stomach any favors

Xander joined them later in the day.  With a glance at the clock, Buffy calculated it had been five and a half hours since they’d wheeled her mother away.  She hoped it still meant things were progressing well, and wished Ben would come by with another update, however uncomfortable seeing him would leave her.

“Hey.”  Xander made his way over to her corner.  “How you holding up?”

“Wishing it was over already.”

“Know what you mean.”  He sat next to her and took her hand.  “Did you know Spike is in the lobby?”

She nodded.  “He came in late last night, I guess.  That was nice of him?” she said hesitantly, watching Xander’s reaction.  Somehow, he had become Spike’s good friend in the aftermath of their breakup last year, and tended to be the other man’s champion whenever Buffy vented over her ex, giving her Spike’s side of the story – the side she hadn’t wanted to hear, not after she’d succeeded in driving him away.  Not when it just made everything more painful. 

“You want me to go ask him to come join us?”

Buffy grimaced.  “He was here earlier.  Until… until Ben came to give me an update.”  She kept her gaze firmly fixed on her lap.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  Oh.”  Xander squeezed her hand and Buffy smiled at him, grateful for the understanding in his brown eyes.  She once again considered heading down to the lobby to ask Spike to come back, but she was reluctant to leave, not when news could come at any moment.

The afternoon ticked on, Buffy growing more and more anxious as the minutes passed with no update, until the doors whooshed open and the doctor stepped through, removing his surgical cap.  Buffy stumbled in her haste to reach him, one arm around Dawn, the other still clutching Xander’s hand.

“Your mother is fine,” he said.  “She’s resting in the recovery room and should wake up some time later tonight.”

“And – and the tumor?”  He didn’t speak right away, and Buffy’s heart sank.  “Doctor Kingston?  The tumor?”

He hesitated again, then said, “Let’s go sit down over here, shall we?”

“No!”  Buffy began to panic.  “No sitting.  Just – tell us.  Please.”

With a sympathetic smile, he said, “It’s not completely bad news.  We were able to remove the majority of the tumor, which is good.  It gives Joyce a fighting chance.”

“But?”  Dawn said, her voice high and scared.  “Just a chance?”

Doctor Kingston clasped his hands together.  “Part of the tumor was inoperable due to its location.  We’ll treat the rest with a combination of chemotherapy and radiation, which is standard protocol in cases like this.”

“When you say a chance,” Giles cut in, “what kind of success rates are we speaking of?”

The doctor looked from one anxious face to another.  “About thirty percent.  Still a good chance, but not as high as we’d like.”  He scrubbed a hand over his face before he went on.  “There is another option, but it’s considered experimental, and your mother’s insurance won’t cover it.”

“Why not?” several voices demanded at once.

“Experimental procedures are rarely covered by insurance.  Sometimes we are able to enroll patients into trial studies, in which case the pharmaceutical company covers the expenses, but there aren’t any open at this time.”

“So…” Buffy said, gathering her thoughts.  “Is this other treatment more successful?”

Doctor Kingston nodded.  “Preliminary findings suggest it will be, perhaps in the range of eighty percent successful.  Of course, these are preliminary studies only…”

“We’ll do it.”

He offered her a compassionate smile.  “We’re talking tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars, Miss Summers.  It’s not a decision to be made lightly.”

“I don’t care!”  Buffy’s voice rose as she lost what little control she had left.  “This is my mother’s _life_ we’re talking about here.  I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Me either,” Dawn added.  “I’ll quit college and get a job.  We’ll find a way.”

Giles put a comforting hand on both their shoulders.  “We’ll all find a way,”

The doctor nodded once more.  “Of course.  Please understand it’s not just money that is a concern.  The potential health risks of are substantial.”  Buffy sagged, her brief flare of hope fading once more.  Dr. Kingston touched her arm.  “Don’t worry, we don’t need to make a decision right now.  You can wait several days, even weeks, if necessary.  And it is, ultimately, Joyce’s choice.  I’ll gather together the information for you to look over, and see what costs the hospital can absorb.”  He reached out to grasp Dawn’s shoulder.  “For now, just be with your mother.  Focus your energies on helping her to recover from invasive surgery, so that she is strong enough to handle whatever comes next.”

Buffy sniffled and blinked back her tears, and wiped roughly at her face with the heels of her hands.  “Of course,” she said, voice still shaky. 

“Now would be a good time to go get something to eat,” the doctor told them gently.  “Get a break from this place, go home and take a nap, even.  Joyce will be sleeping for several hours yet, and the rest of you are going to need your strength as well.”

“I’ll make sure they do,” Giles said.  “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Yes, thank you,” Buffy said as well, and Dawn echoed her.

Giles turned to the Summers girls after the doctor had left.  “Are you ready to leave?”

Buffy was about to refuse, but Giles gave her a stern look.  “Yeah, okay.  Just, um…”  She thought of Spike waiting alone in the lobby – if hadn’t left already – and lowered her voice.  “I’m going to go tell Spike first…  Do you think you could give us some time before you all come down?”

“Of course, my dear.”

To her relief, Spike was sprawled in a chair, booted feet propped up on another, eyes closed.  She approached him slowly, taking the time to examine him.  He looked good – tired, but good – and Buffy’s breath caught, unsure of what to say.  “Spike?” she said softly, and his eyes fluttered open, cloudy and unfocused until he saw her standing over him.  He smiled warmly for a moment, then frowned, his expression turning wary. 

“Well?”

She bit her cheek at his abrupt tone and swallowed back her hurt.  “She’s resting.  Recovering.  The doctor said she should wake up sometime tonight.”

His smile returned.  “So the surgery was successful.”

To her dismay, Buffy burst into tears and couldn’t force herself to stop, all her pent-up emotions breaking free. 

“Hey.  Hey, now.”  He sprang to his feet and gathered her up against his chest.  Buffy fisted his t-shirt and cried harder, Spike petting her all the while.  “It’s okay, love, let it all out.”

Her tears tapered off after several minutes, but she didn’t move, too embarrassed.  “I’m sorry,” she said through her sniffles.

“For what, kitten?  Nothing to be sorry for.  It’s been a long, hard day.”

She took comfort from the sound of his heartbeat and his warm, familiar scent, and drew several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.  “Th-thanks for coming today.  It meant a lot to me.  And Mom.  I didn’t mean what I said-”

“I know,” he cut her off.  “And I didn’t mean, either.  It’s been a rough day, emotions running high.  So let’s just leave it at that, love.”

Buffy finally looked up.  _Were his eyes always that blue?_  She took a reluctant step backwards.  “The surgeon said they didn’t get it all out.  She’ll have to have additional treatment.  I don’t really know all the details yet, but… I don’t think she’s out of the woods yet.”

Spike reached out to push back a lock of hair that had plastered to her wet cheek.  “Your mum’s strong.  A fighter.  She’s got you and Dawn to fight for, yeah?  It’ll be okay.”  His hand stayed where it was, cupping the line of her jaw, and Buffy overlaid it with hers.

“Thanks.”  With another sniffle, she laced her fingers through his and dropped their intertwined hands to her side.  “I think we were going to all go get something to eat.  Or at least sit around a restaurant and pick at our food and pretend to eat.  Want to come with?”

He hesitated.  “If I don’t get going soon, I might miss my flight.”

“Oh.  Right.  Next time?”  She groaned inwardly at how stupid that sounded.

Spike chuckled.  “I’ll be back soon as I can, count on it.  Will you give your mum a kiss for me?”

The hum of the others’ voices caught her attention as she nodded, and she slipped her hand out of his, immediately wishing she hadn’t.  Knowing they only had a few private moments left, Buffy blurted, “Call me when you get the chance.  Or email me or something.”

His eyes crinkled, and his entire face softened.  “Only if you promise to reply.” 

She smiled up at him, heart pounding like a frightened jackrabbit.  “Promise,” she agreed, just as the others swept them up in their wake.

 

*******

 

Buffy stared at her empty inbox.  _Ding_ , she prompted it.  _Ding_.  It remained stubbornly silent.  And empty.  Well, empty of Spike-shaped emails.  The penis-enlargement spam was doing its usual cluttering thing.  Buffy stared at her inbox some more, wondering if she had misread Spike the other day, maybe mistaken lingering affection and nostalgia for something more.  Maybe he’d only been humoring her, and she’d read more into it than she should have.

_I’ll call you.  We’ll keep in touch._ It was the kind of thing you said when you didn’t know what else to say.  A way to graciously take your leave of an old flame.  Maybe he’d only been thinking, _Don’t make the needy girl’s day any harder than it’s already been_.

Four days post-surgery, it seemed more than likely.  If Spike still had any interest in her, nothing would have kept him from banging out a quick email or picking up the phone, not after her proffered olive branch.  Buffy bit back her sigh of disappointment and shut her computer down for the night.  Whatever happened – or didn’t happen – with Spike, she had more important things to worry about.  Like readying the house to bring her mother home from the hospital.

When Buffy returned from the grocery store the next afternoon, she walked into her kitchen, arms filled with bags, and promptly walked back out.

“Dawn?” she called.  “Dawn!”

The younger girl came thumping down the stairs.  “What?”

“There’s a strange woman in our kitchen.  Doing something with our vegetables.”  Buffy poked her head around the corner, the line between her brows deepening at the sight of the capable-looking grey-haired matron moving efficiently about the Summers kitchen.  “And sharp knives,” she added in a whisper when she turned back.  “Since when do we give strangers in our house sharp knives?”

“Since they’re our housekeeper.”

Buffy stared at her, blinking.  “Nope, still not with the sense-making.”

“She’s a present.”

“Okay, now I _know_ I walked into the Twilight Zone, cause in this day and age?  Giving people as presents is simply not done.  We’ll just have to send her back, along with a note explaining about the emancipation proclamation.”

Dawn rolled her eyes.  “Her _services_ are the present.  Her name is Mrs. Johansen.  Check your email.  Spike called after you left earlier, and he said he would email you with all the details.”

“Um… okay…”  Not yet ready to face the unexpected presence of Mrs. Johansen, Buffy pressed the heavy paper bags into Dawn’s arms.  “You take care of the groceries while I go read about these details.”

She hurried up the stairs before Dawn could protest and woke her laptop, a little breathless with anticipation at what Spike would have to say to her.

_Buffy,_

_I remember what it’s like trying to keep up on all the chores while caring for somebody who’s ill.  Wish I could be there in person to help, but until then, please let me do this for your family._

_Mrs. Johansen will arrive later this afternoon.  She comes highly recommended (and I’ve had Rupert check her references)._

His email continued on with the sundry details of Mrs. Johansen’s hours and duties, then ended with the simple signature, _Spike_.

Nothing else.  No signs of affection, nothing personal even.  Buffy read it through twice more, looking for something she might have missed, and was left reeling when she didn’t find it.  That was it?  Five days she’d waited, and all she got was an impersonal note about having a stranger foisted on her household without her prior approval?

Her fingers hovered over the keys, but she couldn’t think of an adequate reply.  Buffy gave up on trying to formulate a response and flopped onto her bed, resolving to deal with Spike later.  Right now, she had to wrap her head around the presence of Mrs. Johansen, and she needed to sort her feelings out before she went downstairs to talk to the woman, otherwise she’d end up taking her anger out on somebody who was only doing what they’d been paid to do.  She forced herself to separate her disappointment and annoyance with Spike from her feelings about his ‘present’.

It was, she admitted, thoughtful.  Well-intentioned, if poorly executed.  After weighing it over, Buffy decided they really could use Mrs. Johansen’s help, and with all the other stress in her life, she’d be a fool to turn the woman away.  Mind cleared, she went downstairs to greet the knife-wielding stranger in her kitchen. 

Mrs. Johansen turned out to be both pleasant and capable, and Buffy’s gratitude was firmly cemented by the time she’d eaten dinner, a dinner that was far more gourmet than anything she would have prepared.  Buffy considered it an accomplishment when whatever she prepared turned out edible, which, sadly, was an improvement over Dawn’s culinary skills  It made their new housekeeper a welcome addition to the family.

She finally sent Spike a reply the next evening, after she’d settled her mom into her own bed for the first time in almost two weeks.  Joyce’s return home gave her something to say, something besides the curt ‘thanks’ that was all she had come up with so far.  She filled the email with awkward sounding prattle; anything to avoid making a fool of herself by confessing how much she missed Spike and asking if he missed her too.  She figured he was, at the very least, still angry with her for the way she’d rejected him last year, and had maybe even moved on.  Buffy didn’t want to embarrass herself by presuming he had any lingering feelings for her.  It seemed clear from Spike’s email that his involvement in her life was purely as a friend of the family.  He’d been compassionate and comforting in the hospital because that’s who Spike was.  She’d been having a hard day, and he’d given her support.  It was what he did, and Buffy didn’t kid herself into thinking it meant anything more.  Spike was just a good guy like that.

He’d obviously moved on, as she’d wanted him to. 

How ironic she couldn't. 

 


	35. Chapter 35

 

Spike opened Buffy’s latest email and winced when he realized it was another impersonal update on Joyce’s health.  Not that he would be any more forthcoming when he replied.  Things were firmly in the casual friend zone, and he wasn’t going to be the one to push for more.  Spike wasn’t as willing to open himself up to the pain of loving Buffy Summers as he’d once been, not when it seemed she was content with the way things were.

For all he knew, she was dating that doctor anyways.  Dawn hadn’t mentioned it, but little sisters didn’t tell everything.  And the doctor was there in Sunnydale.  Available.  Which Spike wasn’t.  If another man could give Buffy the support she needed right now, then Spike was going to try very hard not to begrudge her whatever happiness she might find.  It wasn’t as though he’d done a bang-up job making the girl happy.

With a sigh, he moved on to Oz’s email next, which left him far more satisfied.  He sent off a quick reply to the question therein.

Only one item of business left for the night.  Spike logged in to his online banking, saw that the transfer had gone through, and sent off the letter he’d prepared days earlier.

 

*******

 

Buffy’s gaze flickered between the letter in her hand and the computer screen.  What she saw on the screen should have been impossible, but there it was, plain as day.

 _Electronic funds transfer._ And under the credit column:   _$20,000_.

Phrases from the letter jumped out at her.  _Extra money.  No big deal._

If that kind of money was ‘extra’ and ‘no big deal’, then Spike’s band was doing even better than she thought.

Another sentence caught her attention.  _Would have rather done it anonymously, but I’ve learned my lesson on keeping secrets from you._

She bit her lip, torn.  On the one hand, Spike’s donation had boosted the amount in the “Mom Fund” to over $45,000, the remainder of which she’d raised through other, much smaller donations from the local community.  On the other hand… twenty thousand dollars was a lot of money, especially when things between her and Spike were murky at best.  Buffy didn’t like owing anybody, period, and owing ex-boyfriends was way beyond her comfort zone.  She could rationalize the housekeeper, but this…

“It’s too much,” she said when a sleepy hello sounded on the other end of the line.

Spike yawned.  “Buffy?”

“Yes.  Hi.”  She glanced at the time.  It was one in the afternoon there, so she didn’t feel too guilty for waking him up, although she remembered what it was like to be on the road and how late you tended to go to bed.  “Sorry for the wake-up call.  And it’s too much.  I can’t – you have to take it back.”

He yawned again.  “Don’t be stubborn, pet.  You know you need the money, and I can spare it.  And don’t worry, I’m not going hungry in order to give you my every last red cent,” he said, forestalling her argument.  “I’ve enough dosh set aside for emergencies, and the rest is more than I need.”

“But-”

“Buffy.  What am I going to do with it?  You know I’m not into flash, and even if I were, d’you really think I could drive some fancy new car around knowing the money could’ve been put to better use?”

“It’s too much,” she repeated.  Stubbornly.  Because Spike’s arguments were swaying her, and she didn’t want them to.  She didn’t want to feel indebted to him, and she didn’t want the reminder of what a _good_ man he was, or how she’d thrown that away.

“No, it’s not too much,” he said gently.  “It’s not enough, if you ask me.”

She wasn’t going to cry.  She wasn’t.  “I’ll pay you back.  Somehow.  I promise.”

“If you really want to pay me back, Summers, you’ll take the money without another word and focus on caring for your mum.  And yourself.  That’s the only repayment I want.”

Buffy closed her eyes.  Spike was officially crossing into Too Good To Be True territory now, and if she hadn’t already seen him at his worst, she wouldn’t have believed it for a second.  But she had; she’d seen the best and the worst of him, she knew his good qualities as well as his bad, and giving everything he had to those he cared about definitely counted among his better attributes.  “Thank you,” she said, too overcome to say anything more.

“See?  Wasn’t so hard, was it.” 

She would have laughed, except she figured it might come out as a sob.  Instead, Buffy said, “Is your band really doing that well then?  That you have that kind of cash to throw around?”  Spike didn’t answer, and she began to suspect he’d been lying about not giving her his every last red cent.  “Spike.  Do you really have money set aside for yourself?”

“I do,” he said quickly.  “Promise.”

So it was something else.  If he’d kept funds for himself, and this wasn’t from being rich and famous…  “Okay then.  Where’d the money come from?”

“You would have to ask, wouldn’t you,” he grumbled.  “See how seriously I’m taking this promise to never lie to you again?  Because I’d rather slip Xander some tongue than tell you, and yet here goes.”  He exhaled noisily before he continued.  “I have a small trust from my mum’s estate, some of which recently became available to me.  There’s still plenty there, you’ll not be having to worry about me spending my golden years in the poor house, but I didn’t need it all.  And you – Joyce – did.”

That was it.  Buffy was officially in love all over again.  She clutched the phone tighter, wishing it were him she was holding onto, while the tears that seemed to always be lurking behind her eyelids these days threatened once again.  Voice hoarse, she said, “You’re a good man, Spike.  We’re lucky to have you as a friend.”

He made a noise of disagreement.  “Now you’re the one who’s too kind.  I’m the lucky one here, having three beautiful Summers women in my life.” 

Her stomach fluttered at his declaration.  Although it was the kind of charming utterance that fell from Spike’s lips with practiced ease, his words gave her the courage to reply, “Well, you have three Summers women who would like to have you come around a little more often.  So they could thank you in person with a home cooked dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally.  Of course, it would be Mrs. Johansen who would cook dinner, but Dawn and I would set the table real pretty.”  He chuckled.  “So what do you think,” she went on, encouraged.  “Any chance you could make it to Sunnydale sometime in the near future?”

“I think we could make something happen next time I get a break.”  Now her stomach was doing summersaults, and Buffy was glad she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.  “Buffy, love,” he said, cutting into her happy fantasy of dinner leading to something more than the forced casualness they’d been maintaining for the last month.  “You know I’m not… trying to buy you back, right?”

Not trying to buy her back.  As in not trying to buy her affection, or didn’t want her back, period?  She didn’t ask him to elaborate, only answered in as perky a voice as she could muster, “No, no!  I’d never think it of you!”  After a moment’s awkward silence, she said in a more serious tone, “God, Spike, I know you well enough to know that.  I told you, you’re a good person.  I mean it.”

He cleared his throat.  “Yeah, well.  I’ve had some good role models.  Your mother being one of them.”

“This is true,” Buffy replied in a thick voice.

“How’s she holding up?”

She filled him in on the details of the course of treatment Joyce had started over the last few days, a combination of both radiation and the newer experimental drugs they were paying for out-of-pocket, and then the conversation trailed off into silence.  Spike seemed equally unsure of what to say, neither of them used to talking to the other anymore, but Buffy didn’t want to end the first real conversation they’d had in over a year. 

It seemed as though Spike felt the same way.  “Do you miss touring?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I miss _singing_.  Touring, not so much.”

“Bloody hell, isn’t that the truth.  I’d almost be willing to give up the success part of it all if it meant I could sleep in the same bed more than two nights in a row.”

She wondered whether different bedmates came with the different beds each night, but only said, “Definitely the biggest perk of quitting the band.  My own comfy bed, every night.” 

 _My own lonely bed_. Buffy’s brain ever so helpfully provided her with a memory of Spike sprawled naked in her bed, hands behind his head, tongue curled as he flashed her one of his sexy smiles.  She suppressed a whimper and told herself she needed to get a grip before she blurted something totally inappropriate and scared him off.

 “But… you didn’t quit the Dingoes,” Spike said, bringing her back to the here and now.  “You’re just taking some time off.”

“Yeah, right.  Hello, you do remember Devon, don’t you?  He was pretty adamant about me being done for good if I was insensitive enough to choose my sick mother over my singing career.”

“That bleeding little-”

“It’s not worth getting upset over.  It was fun while it lasted, but… I have no regrets.  I want to sing, not be a star.”  She remembered Spike’s declarations a year ago of how he didn’t want to be a star either.  Buffy wondered if he recalled them as well, and whether he was glad she’d given him an out after all.  If he was, he didn’t say anything about it.  Instead, he grumbled some more about Devon, and soon after they trailed off into inane comments about the weather in Sunnydale.  Which was Buffy’s signal to end the call, reluctant though she was.  When you were reduced to spouting drivel about Sunnydale’s rather predictable weather patterns, you’d run out of things to say.  Things you were comfortable saying, at any rate.

They made their goodbyes, and Buffy hung up the phone, wondering if she would ever get up the nerve to ask him outright how he felt.  And then realized she needn’t bother – Spike had never been one to hide his feelings for her, so if she didn’t know whether or not he still loved her? 

It meant he probably didn’t.  Not anymore.

 

*******

 

“Whatcha got there?” Buffy asked when Dawn tromped into the art gallery, a sheaf of papers in hand.

“These?  Oh, just some flyers Giles asked me to put up around town.  For the Bronze.  You want to see?”

Buffy shook her head.  “Not right now, I’ve got this shipping invoice to deal with.”  She missed keeping up with the happenings at the Bronze, but running her mom’s gallery was all she could handle at the moment, what with being the adult-in-charge at home and fundraising on the side.  “How’s Mom doing?  She need anything?”

“Mrs. Johansen’s there.  I told her to call you if there were any problems.  Hey, is it okay if I put one in the window?”  Dawn waved a flyer in her direction.

“What?  Oh, yeah, sure,” Buffy said, losing herself in the invoice once again, mentally checking items off.

It was days before she remembered the flyer in the window.  Walking to work one morning, she realized with a start that the colorful flyers were _everywhere_ , in every business window and on every lamppost, it seemed.  Dawn had papered the town, and only Buffy’s extreme preoccupation had kept her from noticing.  She stepped forward to read the one stapled to the nearest lamppost.  When she realized what it said, her hand flew to her mouth.

Buffy whirled.  She pounded her way back home and burst into the kitchen, out of breath.  Dawn’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth.  “Buffy?  What’s wrong?”

“ _You_!  With the wrong and the not telling and the _why_?”

“Sense.  You want to try making some?”

“The Bronze.  This weekend.  _Spike_.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that!  What do you mean, oh that?  This is not a that, this is a this!  A _big_ this.”

“Geez, chill.”  Dawn resumed eating.  “I can’t believe you only just noticed.  I thought you already knew and were trying to play it cool.”  She took another bite, then used her spoon to point at Buffy.  “Does this mean you’re not over Spike?”

Buffy perched on the stool next to her.  “Why?  Has he said anything?”

“Oh no.  I’m not playing that game.  You guys are supposed to be adults.  You work it out.  Remember how silly we thought Mom was when she was too scared to go talk to Giles?  You’re doing the same thing.”

“Dawn…” she wheedled.  “Come on…  He still talks to you.  Like, really talks, instead of asking about the weather.  Tell me what you know.” 

After a moment’s pause, her sister conceded.  “Okay, fine.  But I get to wear your red top to the show, all right?  The new one.”

“Deal.”  Her frazzled mind had already begun planning her outfit for Friday night at the Bronze, the sexy, clingy top featuring high on her list of possibilities, but if that was her sister’s price she’d gladly pay it.  Anything to get the scoop.

“And if he asks, I’m not telling him he still turns you into a nervous wreck.  I’m not playing go-between.”

“I’m not a nervous-”  The younger woman raised her eyebrow.  “Okay, fine.  Yes I am.  It’s just…”  She twisted her hands together, unable to explain why she was so panicked.

“You still love him.”  Dawn gave Buffy a sympathetic smile when she nodded glumly.  “You two are such idiots.”

“I can’t disagree.  So does he still…?”

“Love you too?”  Dawn shrugged.  “He cares about you, that’s obvious.  He asks about you all the time.  Or used to.  Not so much now that you’re talking to each other on your own.”

Buffy’s eyebrows drew together, forming a crease in her brow.  It wasn’t enough to determine Spike’s feelings towards her, or whether she had a chance at winning him back.  “You haven’t earned that top yet.  I need more.  Is he seeing anybody?  Even… casually?” 

“Not that I know, and trust me when I say – if Spike is having one-night stands, he’s not telling and I wouldn’t want to hear about it anyways.”  Buffy watched her sister slurp her cereal milk while she tried to still her restless hands, hands that were currently shredding napkin after napkin into tiny, useless pieces.

Spike was coming back to Sunnydale.  She was going to see him again.  In three days’ time.  She could watch him singing live with his band in three short days.  Another mutilated napkin joined the others, and then Buffy paused mid-shred as something occurred to her.  She was going to see him sing _if_ she bothered to go – but maybe she wouldn’t.  Because the jerk hadn’t breathed a word of it to her during their last several emails, and something like this?  Took planning.  Lots of planning.  Planning she should have been involved in, what with the experience she had, and why hadn’t he told her himself?

Looked like he was still keeping secrets from her after all.  Buffy supposed some habits died hard.

 

*******

 

It was easier to talk to Oz about it than call Spike and ask him.  “So,” she said, catching the black-haired man outside his mom’s house Thursday morning before he could leave to rendezvous with Willow.  Oz had literally just gotten back into town, and she felt bad about keeping them apart for even a few minutes longer, but this needed to be addressed now.  “What’s up with this thing you and Spike have going on at the Bronze?  And the keeping me out of the loop on it?”

Oz raised his hands.  “Not my deal.  Spike planned the whole thing.  All I know is when and where the Dingoes are supposed to show up.”

Buffy leveled her most intimidating glare at him.  “No dice.  You forget I know Devon, and there’s no way he’d agree to anything somebody else organized without a hell of a lot of convincing.  Which means you know what’s going on, so make with the details, buddy-boy.”  She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for Oz to come clean.

He blinked at her for several long seconds, then caved.  “I told Spike you’d be pissed.”

“Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on whether it’s the bleach that damaged his brain or he’s just naturally stupid.  Why with the secret?”

“No secret.  It’s not like you weren’t going to find out.”

“But I wasn’t involved in the planning either.  Which, kinda my thing.  You might even say it’s my specialty.”

Oz shrugged.  “Spike didn’t want to add to your worries.”

Buffy’s voice rose an octave.  “Why does he get to decide what my worries are?  Who gave him the right?”

“That’s between you and him,” Oz said, hands coming up in defense once more.  “You need to talk to him about it, not me.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.”

 

*******

 

Giles was next on her list.  She marched into his office and without preamble demanded, “Why wasn’t I put in charge of the P.R. for your stupid nephew’s big debut at the Bronze?”

“Spike didn’t want-”

“I’ve heard all about what Spike didn’t want.  How about what _I_ didn’t want?  Which was to be left out of something this big?”

“Buffy,” he said gently, coming around his desk to place a fatherly hand on her arm.  “You have enough responsibilities on your shoulders right now as it is, and he wanted this to be a sort of, well, surprise for you.  A gift, as it were.”

She frowned.  “Surprised, check.  I’m all with the surprised.  Not quite seeing how it’s a gift, though.”

Giles picked up a flyer from the corner of the desk and handed it to her.  “Do you know what tomorrow night is about?”

“Um…  I’m going to take a guess and go with no based on the way you just asked me that question.”

“Have you read the flyer?”

Buffy shook her head.  “Not past the part where it said Edge of Insanity and the Dingoes are playing together.  I was too busy with wigging out by that point.”

“Look more carefully.”

She obliged, paying closer attention, and then –

“Oh.”  Further pieces of the puzzle clicked together.  “For Mom?”

“For all of you.”

Her knees gave out and she had to sit.  Spike had planned an entire benefit concert, all proceeds going to support a worthy cause, and he’d done it all for her family.  Without asking anything in return.  She let the paper drop, hands coming up to cover her eyes as she thought about the amount of work that had gone into it.  Work he had wanted to spare her.  “I still would have wanted to help.”

“Which is precisely why William kept it from you.”

Giles’ use of his real name jolted her, and the reminder of Spike’s prior secret keeping rekindled the spark of anger in the belly.  She turned her blazing eyes on the older man.  “So you went along with it?  Thought it was a good plan too, did you?  Protect poor, helpless Buffy?”

“That’s not the spirit in which this was intended, and you know it.”

“Oh, don’t give me that disappointed look,” she said, well aware she sounded like a petulant child and not really giving a damn.  Her emotions had been put through the wringer in the past day, and Buffy couldn’t find it in herself to be mature and understanding at the moment.  Despite the strong desire to continue her tantrum, curiosity took over.  “What advertising have you done?”

“A good bit.  Radio and billboards in L.A. – we managed to get a reduced rate, since it’s not for profit.  The flyers, which you’ve seen.  The newspaper.  To be honest, I’m rather surprised the concert has only now come to your attention.”

“Yeah well.  Been a bit with the busy lately.”  Giles gave Buffy a look.  A look that let her know she’d just proven his earlier point.  She groaned.  “Fine.  I’m still mad at him.  And you too.”  His shoulders twitched, as though he was trying to refrain from laughing, and Buffy bit the inside of her lower lip hard to prevent it from creeping out.  She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

 “You will be there tomorrow, I hope?  Joyce plans to attend, since it is in her honor after all.  She seems strong enough to handle an evening out, don’t you think?” 

Even her mom was more aware of what was going on than Buffy had been.  Where _had_ her head been that she’d been so oblivious?

“I’ll be there with bells on.”  Because no matter how angry she might be with Spike, there was no way she would bypass an opportunity to see him up close and in person for the first time in over month, never mind the chance to see him perform with his band.  Besides, what kind of ungrateful bitch would she have to be not to show? 

“And Giles?  Thanks.”

 

*******

 

Buffy dumped her shopping bags onto her bed and wondered what Spike was doing at that moment.  Giles had told her the band members were arriving on an early morning flight, which meant they’d been in Sunnydale for hours now.  She imagined him sprawled out in his old bed, lean, muscled arm thrown over his face and hiding those cheekbones from prying eyes while he napped.  Or maybe he was sitting on the stool in his uncle’s office, strumming his guitar and thinking of her as he worked at a new song.  Her favorite fantasy involved him sauntering up her walkway, perhaps even climbing the tree to rap at her window, and it was so vivid she actually peered outside, expecting to see him there.  Buffy shook her head in dismay at the foolishness of her thoughts. 

She glanced at the clock.  Two hours until they were supposed to leave.  It ought to have been enough time, but naturally wasn’t.  Dawn ended up yelling at her to hurry up, anxious to leave.

When Buffy finally came down the stairs, her mom’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.  Her sister was less circumspect.  “Wow.  You really wanted to make sure he had eyes for nobody but you, didn’t you.”

With a worried glance down at her really-not-leaving-anything-to-the-imagination shirt, red leather mini, and thigh-high boots, Buffy said, “Too much?  Am I projecting desperation?”

“You’re projecting _something_ , dear,” Joyce said, head averted.

“High beams on full alert and no shielding in sight,” Dawn added.

Buffy’s face fell.  “Too much, I knew it.  I’ll go change again…”

Dawn grumbled about already being late while Joyce delicately cleared her throat and suggested that the addition of a bra would be sufficient.

Luckily, Dawn volunteered to drive them to the Bronze.  Buffy was too nervous to focus on anything as mundane as traffic and pedestrians when they were drawing closer to Spike with every passing second.  She had more pressing concerns.  Such as whether to go backstage with her family and greet the man who still held her heart, or let him first see her in the crowd, as casual and unconcerned as you please.  Wooing somebody you’d chased off was complicated, especially when you didn’t want to come off as desperate.

The minute she walked into the club, her resolve to see him faltered.  The Bronze was packed.  Many of the patrons she recognized as Dingoes fans, but an even larger number were unfamiliar to her.  That in and of itself was unsurprising – there were always new people – but the t-shirts several of them sported made clear their reason for coming.  The scores of beautiful women with Spike’s face plastered over their boobs led her to realize she had never met Spike the up-and-coming rock star, only Spike the man. 

Which version would be here tonight?  Her hands fiddled with the hem of her skirt as she tugged it lower without conscious thought, suddenly unsure of herself.  Buffy wondered if Spike the rock star would still be the same man she knew, or somebody else entirely.

She would have retreated back to the car if Dawn hadn’t taken her arm and yelled in her ear, “Come on, the guys saved us a table near the front.”  Buffy had to follow behind, feeling more than a little star struck as the buzz of the crowd increased with each further step. 

They reached the table and greeted Willow, Xander and Anya.  “I’m going to take Mom backstage,” Dawn said to Buffy.  “You coming?”

Buffy shook her head, eyes wide with fright.  “I – I don’t – no,” she managed.  “I’ll talk to Spike after.”  _Or something._   Dawn gave her a disgusted look but didn’t press the issue, instead taking Joyce’s arm to guide her through the crowd and leaving Buffy alone with her thoughts.  She glanced around again at all the beautiful women and realized that Spike could have any one of them if he wanted.  And he probably did, on a regular basis. 

What had ever made her think she could win him back?  Their past history?

That was a laugh.  If anything, their past was a liability.  Why would Spike ever choose the heartache of further entanglement with Buffy Summers when there were scores of gorgeous and willing women he could choose from; women who had never once broken his heart the way she had?

 


	36. Chapter 36

 

Spike paced the dressing room, fingers twitching, and almost caved to the yearning for a fag.  Buffy hadn’t come backstage to greet him with the other Summers women, and he didn’t know what it meant.  Didn’t know if he’d been foolish to believe they were friends, didn’t know if he’d been foolish to hope she’d be happy to see him.  Her family had confirmed she was in the Bronze, so at least she was here, but…  Where did he stand with her?  Oz had mentioned earlier that Buffy was pissed with him, but Spike had figured she would forgive him once she realized why he’d arranged the concert without her knowledge.  Maybe it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Though he’d told himself he wasn’t willing to push for more, each conversation with Buffy over the last several weeks had reminded him of how much he loved her.  And now, back in the same town as her, back in the same building where they’d fallen in love, Spike had realized how stupid he’d been.

He wanted Buffy back, no matter what it took.  No more lying to himself about it. 

But did she want him?  Did he have even a chance of winning her back?

The Dingoes were halfway through their set now, which meant it would be Insanity’s turn to take the stage soon.  Spike picked up his guitar, returned it to its stand, then went to the door and listened, fingers drumming on the jamb.

“Bloody hell, Spike, sit the fuck down,” Charlie said from where he was sprawled on the sofa.  “I’m about ready to knock you out.  Or hand you a bottle of whiskey.  You’re driving me up the wall.”

He shot Charlie a two-fingered salute, and softened it with an apologetic half-smile as the guitar player joined him. 

“This Buffy chit’s really done a number on you hasn’t she,” Charlie said.  “You going to make it through the night?”

Spike leaned against the door and thumped the back of his head against it.  “Think I screwed up again.  I always seem to manage it when it comes to her.”

“You did a good thing, here, mate.  Not seeing how you could have pissed the girl off.”

“It’s…”  He shook his head.  “Was going to say complicated, but it’s really not.  She doesn’t like secrets.  I made sure she didn’t find out about tonight until it was too late for her to help.  I really should have known better.”

“But she’s here.  She came.”  Spike nodded, and Charlie slapped him on the shoulder.  “Cheer up, mate.  One glimpse of the way those leather pants frame your junk is all it’s going to take for the girl to forgive you and be back in your arms before the end of the night.”

Spike leveled a stare at him.  “You checking out my junk again?  Pouf?”

Charlie’s eyelids slid to half-mast and he bit his lower lip, hand beginning a slow caress of Spike’s shoulder.  “You’re just so much man,” he said in a bedroom voice.  “Gets me hot.”

“Sod off.”

“I know you feel it too.  You want me.  Don’t deny it.”

Charlie laughed when Spike shoved him away.  “Arsehole,” Spike said, then rolled his eyes at the mock-hurt expression Charlie sported.  “ _This_ is all for the ladies,” he said, grabbing himself.  “Not you.”

“Cruel.  So cruel to me.”

Spike clapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry lad, we can still be friends.”  He quieted as the sound of Devon’s voice echoed down the hallway, made audible by the club’s loudspeakers. 

“Guess who’s here with us tonight?” Devon called out, and in response the crowd shouted, “Buffy!”  The single word reverberated in Spike’s ears.  He stiffened, his nervousness returning and making his stomach turn summersaults.

“Go.”  Charlie pried Spike’s fingers from his arm.  “Go see her.”

With a grateful look, Spike hurried down the hallway just in time to watch from the wings while Devon pulled Buffy onto the stage and towards the microphone.  His jaw dropped as he saw her for the first time that night.  Pants now unbearably tight, it took all his willpower not to rush out there, sweep her up into his arms, and spirit her back to his hotel room. 

Later.  Maybe.  If things went the way he hoped.

Oz must have talked Devon into singing with Buffy after all, which was what Spike had hoped for.  Not only did it give the fans what they wanted, which was the pair of them singing together again after a several month hiatus, but it put Buffy front and central.  He hoped the reminder of why they were there would encourage the crowd to dig a little deeper into their pockets.  Another few dollars from each fan added up to a lot more money raised on Joyce’s behalf, and that was the whole point of tonight’s performance.

Buffy took the microphone from Devon with an anxious smile and turned to the crowd to thank them for coming.  Before the applause could die out, the band swung into action, Devon pulling Buffy close as the music began.  Spike caught her confused expression and the way her shoulders tensed, but she quickly realized what was expected of her, especially when the roar of the crowd swelled even louder.

By the end of the first song, she was smiling and laughing, and Spike smiled along with her from the shadows.  When they began ‘Hither’ several tunes later, it was as though she’d never stopped performing with the others.  Watching Buffy sing the suggestive duet with Devon left Spike readjusting himself repeatedly, trying to ease the constriction of his pants.  He wondered if they were going to do ‘Yours Alone’ next.  If they were, he decided he was going to be the one to sing it with her, set list be damned.  It was his song anyways, even if he’d given to them the rights to it.  He figured he could claim songwriter’s privilege.  Or something.  He didn’t really care, so long as it was him sharing the microphone with Buffy.  He’d make it up to Devon later, have the man join him during Edge of Insanity’s set.  Give him the final song of the evening maybe.

Spike swaggered his way into the spotlight as ‘Hither’ drew to a close, and when the Bronze erupted into cheers and catcalls, Buffy turned to stare at him with wide eyes.  Although his palms were sweating and his pulse pounded in his ears, Spike didn’t let it show.  Instead, he drew Buffy into his arms and brushed his lips across her cheek, showboating for the spectators who whooped and hollered.  He breathed in her scent, sweaty and musky from performing under the hot lights, and wrapped his arm around her waist.  She trembled like a leaf in his embrace, and he pulled her a little tighter. 

Motioning Devon closer, Spike covered the microphone and said, “Give me ‘Yours Alone’ with Buffy and I’ll let you finish out the evening.”  Devon opened his mouth to argue, then for once in his life seemed to realize something mattered more than his own personal drama.  He gave Spike a curt nod and moved to tell the others.

Buffy tried to pull out of his hold.  “You want to maybe ask _me_ if I’m okay with it, asshole?  First you stage this whole thing without-”

He turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in his.  “Please,” he said.  “I’d be honored if you would sing with me.  You don’t know how I’ve missed it.”

She began to tremble once more.  “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.  And I’m sorry.”  His thumbs traced slow circles against her palms.  She shook her head, but smiled, and Spike took the microphone. 

“Hello Sunnydale!  How are you tonight?” he hollered over the din, which prompted a fresh wave of applause.  “Some of you might remember last summer, when I was lucky enough to sing with the Dingoes and this beautiful, talented woman…”  Cheers punctuated his statement, compelling him to wait before he could continue.  “And Devon has been kind enough to let me sing with Buffy for old times’ sake.” 

As Oz began the opening chords, the sounds from the floor below faded away, leaving only the woman who was gazing up at him with wide, green eyes.  Spike pulled her close once more, and forced his hand to settle on her waist rather than roam every inch of exposed flesh the way it wanted to.  He used the lyrics of the song he’d written for her to tell her what he’d been too afraid to for months now: how she was still his one, his only, his everything.  Buffy melted into him as she twined her voice with his, and her thumb caressed his when their hands met on the microphone.  The hurts of the past year seemed to fade away with each verse, Buffy’s eyes growing softer, warmer, more tender.

The final notes of the guitar ebbed into silence, the pair of them still too wrapped up in each other to remember the public venue until the deafening roar of applause caught Buffy’s attention.  She blinked rapidly and turned to face the crowd, acknowledging the fans.  Spike kept a firm grip on her waist and whispered, “Come with me, kitten?” when she’d finished tossing kisses to the crowd.  She gave him a startled look, cheeks flushing, while her breasts heaved under the see-through top she sported.  He didn’t give her time to disagree.  Spike needed her with him, _now_.  “Thank you.  I’ll see you lot again after the break,” he growled into the microphone, and then tugged her into the wings.

“But what about Devon and the Dingoes and-”

“Don’t give a fuck about the rest of them, Buffy.”  He pressed her against the wall with his body, letting her feel how much he’d missed her.  “Only person I care about in this whole damn world right now is you.”

“Oh,” she said in a tiny voice, lashes fluttering.  “Spike, what…?”

He covered her mouth with his, hot and insistent, caution and restraint thrown to the wind.  He loved her so damned much.  Singing with her had reminded him of how good they were together, how happy they’d been, and any vestiges of resolve to let Buffy be the one to come to him flew right out the window.  Spike didn’t think he could control himself anymore, not unless she asked him to back down.  The way she returned his kiss, fingers digging into his hips and pulling him closer, breathy little moans whispering across his skin, made it seem like a moot point anyhow.  As the music swelled onstage, he scooped Buffy into his arms and practically ran down the hallways and into her old office, slamming the door behind him.

Before he could catch his breath, she shoved him against the door, her touch desperate and almost painful.  Her nails tore his skin, her teeth caught his lower lip, and the heel of her black leather boot dug into the back of his calf where she’d hooked her leg around his.  “Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted into her neck, overcome by her frantic mewls, lost in her urgency.  His hands ferreted their way under her skirt to the smooth, bare skin of her upper thighs.  The slide of his zipper was louder than their combined pants and groans, leaving him to wonder for a split second if the moment was spiraling out of control, but then he was caught in her hot grip and forgot everything but her name and the need to bury himself inside of her.

As his pants slipped lower, freeing him more, Spike spun them so Buffy was flush against the door and lifted her higher.  The press of his body locked her in place, and her soft scent overwhelmed him when he buried his face between her breasts.  With one hand, he drew her panties down until she kicked them away.  His fingers teased the slick flesh now bared to him until she was shuddering, and he lined himself up with her slippery entrance.  Spike’s eyes found hers, asking permission without the words he couldn’t find the coherence to form.  Buffy wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and gripped his shoulders so hard he knew there would be bruises later.  She lowered her lips to his, kissing him breathless while she sank down slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

“Oh Christ, oh fuck, oh Buffy,” he said into her mouth when she’d enveloped him in her slick, wet heat.  His cock throbbed and pulsed with a life of its own.  Throwing his head back, he gripped her by her ass and began a slow, torturous slide that would only last seconds, unless he was able to take control of himself.  When Buffy moaned his name and began to shimmy up and down, flexing her thighs and forcing him to increase his pace, Spike knew it was a losing battle.  He gladly gave in to her frenetic tempo.  “Missed this.  Missed this so much.”  He groaned, and she whimpered, and he only just barely held out until she clenched around him, his own convulsive release almost synchronized with hers. 

Spike’s knees sagged and he fell into Buffy, only the weight of his body keeping her in place.  She threaded her fingers through his hair as he buried his head in juncture of her neck and shoulder, and they both released shuddering breaths.  “Missed this,” he said again, still unable to form a coherent sentence.  He lowered her slowly, his softening cock slipping from her folds with a squelchy sound.  Spike raised his head and feathered kisses over her face, one hand cupping her cheek while the other kept her close.

When he finally drew his head back to look into her eyes, Spike was startled to see tears there.  “Kitten, what…?  What is it?”

She gave her head a tiny shake, lips curving in a tremulous smile.  “Just… you know.  Intense.  Unexpected.  My brain’s all…”

“Yeah.”  He rested his forehead against hers.  “You’re amazing.  Always were.”  Buffy’s chest hitched against him.  “You still mad at me?”

“Ask me later.  When my brain function returns.”  Buffy squirmed.  “Um.  I need a tissue or something.  And you need to be on stage in a few minutes, don’t you?”

Spike staggered over to the desk and sat upon it, pants still wide open.  “One of the benefits of being the star.  They have to wait for me.”  Buffy bent to pick up her underwear, and turned her back on him while she pulled them up and tugged her skirt back into place.  Facing him once more, she stood in an uncomfortable, wide-legged stance and shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting around the room.

“Since there aren’t any tissues in here…  I’m just going to go to the restroom,” she said.  “I’ll, um.  See you later?”

Spike held a hand out to her, beckoning her closer, but she ignored it.  He frowned.  “Wish we had the time to just sit and chat.  Cuddle for a bit, maybe, you know?”

 “Well, star or no, they’re going to come looking for you sooner or later.”  She drew in a breath to say something else, then seemed to reconsider and grasped the door handle instead.

“Wait!”  He propelled himself off the desk to pull her to him, so he could capture her lips one more time.  “You look incredible, love,” he said when the soft kiss ended.  “Gorgeous.  I’d tell you I want to eat you up, but I think you might’ve sussed that out already.”

She flushed, lashes lowering before she raised her head to smile at him.  “You’re looking pretty good yourself, Mr. Rock Star.  The pants are very… um.  I like them.” 

He released her hand and they stared at each other for several long seconds.  Finally, Buffy said.  “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing with your band.  Which… you should be going to do now?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  Spike brushed her hair back from her face and pressed one last kiss to her forehead.  “I’ll look for you in the crowd.  Should be easy to find you.  Prettiest girl in the building, yeah?”  With a sniff, he slid into his stage persona and leered, “Didn’t get to see your delicious titties yet.  You think you could flash me while I’m up on stage, make up for it?”

“Ew.  My _mother_ is out there, pig.  And on that note-” 

She left in a rush, and was gone before he could say another word.

 

*******

 

_Missed this._

Spike’s words ran through Buffy’s head, over and over, as she cleaned up in the bathroom, a refrain echoing in time to the pounding in her temples.

Not you, but this.  _This_.  He had missed sex with her, but not _her_. 

She’d thought, while singing with him, that there’d been more behind the looks and touches, and when he’d kissed her in the wings, she’d been sure his passion had been fueled by more than simple lust.

But after…  He’d only had words of praise for her, for her body.  No words of love.

_You’re amazing, always were.  You look incredible.  Prettiest girl in the building._

_Missed this._

Sex had always been electrifying between them.  Something to miss, no doubts there.  Was that all it had been for Spike?  There’d been no declarations of love to make her think otherwise, and Spike had never before held back the words during lovemaking. 

Ensconced in the bathroom stall, safe from prying eyes, Buffy closed her eyes and shuddered.  She’d dressed to make him want her, leave him overcome with desire, and it had worked.  He’d desired her, all right.

_So yay me,_ she thought morosely.  _Guess I got what I wanted, what do I have to complain about?_

Buffy threw the damp paper towel into the toilet and flushed, resolutely ignoring the other worry trying to force its way into her consciousness.  The one that had to do with having been so desperate to be close to the man she loved, she had ignored their lack of protection.  That would have to be a worry for another day.

Right now, she had to walk out there and join her mother and friends.  Watch Spike preen under the adulation of his fans, and try not to wonder what had just happened in the back office.  She had to somehow make it through the night without forcing him into an awkward conversation she couldn’t bear to have.

Smile plastered on, Buffy made her way to the table just in time to see Spike take the stage.  Luckily, the cover of the crowd hid her dismay at how unaffected he seemed by their encounter.  Here she was, barely able to put one foot in front of the other she was so overcome with emotion, while he bounded about the stage, smiling as gleefully as if – as if he’d just gotten laid.  She tried to enjoy his performance, but couldn’t, too busy spending each moment analyzing his face and movements.  Was he thinking about her when he waggled his eyebrows at the woman in front who flashed him?  When he did that rolling thing with his hips, did his thighs tremble and remind him of her?  When he scanned the crowd, was he looking for her as promised?  Or had it been pretty words that meant nothing to him?

She couldn’t take the uncertainty, and so she stayed where she was, hidden in the dark. 

Spike began the library song.  Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes burned.  Buffy had to force herself to breathe when he caressed the microphone, crooning into it.  He seemed to focus in her general direction, but… she was so confused, she didn’t know if he was looking for her, or if it was just wishful thinking.  Part of her wanted to push her way to the front, to see what he would do when he saw her, but the song came to an end before she could decide.  Spike frowned briefly, head cocked as if he was disappointed.  Buffy’s chest tightened.  Did that mean…?

A flurry of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Buffy turned to see Joyce rifling through her purse.  “Mom?  What is it?”

Her mom gave her a tired smile.  “I think this old lady has used up all her party hearty-ing for the year.  I’m just going to head to the back and try to lie down.”

Buffy shook her head.  “No, no.  I’ll take you home, okay?  You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I don’t want you to miss Spike singing, sweetie.  It’s no big deal.”

“Yes it is.  You staying healthy is the biggest deal.”

“Well…  Maybe Dawn could take me…”

“Dawn’s off dancing.  It’s okay, I can Miss Daisy you home and be back before anybody notices.  Come on,” she said.  “Don’t argue with me.”

Joyce turned to Giles, who had joined their table while Buffy was onstage, and the older man gestured to her, making it obvious that he was offering to play chauffeur in her stead.  Buffy leaned in.  “You stay.  It’s your nephew’s big night.  I’ll be right back.  Tell the others where I went if they ask, okay?” 

He nodded.  “Drive safely.”

Taking Joyce’s arm, Buffy guided her out of the club, her ears ringing at the comparative silence when they reached the pavement.  “Wow.  Loud in there.  Guess I’m getting old,” she said with a rueful laugh.  “Is your head okay?”

“It _was_ starting to be a bit much.  I think you’re right, I’m better off heading home, sweetie.”

“See?  You should always listen to Nurse Buffy.”

Buffy drove home carefully and settled her mother into bed, grateful for the distraction from her earlier turbulent emotions.  Joyce admonished her to hurry back to the club and Buffy promised she would, but she found herself curling up around the pillows in her own bed, suddenly too exhausted to move.  _I’ll just rest for a few minutes_ , she thought to herself as she pulled the covers up, eyelids drooping as though weights had been attached to them.  She fell asleep before she could even unzip her boots.

 

*******

 

Spike forced himself to wait until they’d broken down the equipment with the Dingoes before he pushed his way through the remaining patrons on the club floor, dashing off hurried autographs and dodging groping hands on his way to Buffy’s table.  She wasn’t there, and Spike scanned the area distractedly while thanking those who stopped by to praise his performance.  As soon as he could, he drew Dawn to the side.  “Where’s Buffy?”

“Giles said she took Mom home.  She was supposed to come back, but…”  She looked around with him.  “You know, I don’t think she did.  I haven’t seen her.”

He tensed, memories of the last time she’d gone missing running through his head.  “You think she’s okay?”

“If Mom wasn’t feeling well, maybe Buffy decided to stay with her.”  Dawn turned to speak with the others.  Spike listened in while she asked whether they’d seen Buffy.  When they replied in the negative, she said, “I’ll try calling her.”  He nodded his understanding and climbed onto a chair so he could search the crowd more easily. 

Dawn tapped his elbow.  “No answer.  Which only means she doesn’t have her phone with her.”  Frowning, she added, “If Buffy didn’t come back, I need a ride.”

“On it.  Let me just finish up here and let my mates know.”

At the house, Spike followed Dawn inside, and breathed a sigh of relief when they peeked into Buffy’s bedroom and saw her sleeping.  “Mystery solved,” the younger sister said when they were back downstairs.  “I can’t say I’m surprised.  She’s been running herself ragged making sure the gallery doesn’t suffer, raising the money we need so I don’t have to quit school, and taking care of Mom.  We try to lighten her load, but Buffy… she thinks she needs to do it all, you know?”

“I know.”  He rubbed his jaw, not sure what to do.  Spike didn’t want to wake the girl, not when she so clearly needed her rest, but he couldn’t bear to leave, either.  He’d had so much he intended to say to her after the show tonight, even more so since their interlude in the back room.  Dawn watched him with curious eyes as he stood in the center of the living room, deliberating.  His earlier urge to cuddle up with the woman he loved had been nixed due to time constraints, and now it was all he could think about.  Spike ached to curl up next to Buffy and hold her in his arms, breathe in her scent and feel her hair tickle his nose as he drifted into slumber.  He’d learned to sleep without her in the intervening year, but never easily, not with his arms empty and his side cold.

“We’re supposed to fly back tomorrow morning..."  Dawn waited silently for him to continue.  “I need to…  I have to make sure Buffy and I talk before then.  Really talk.  I can’t let her slip away again.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

His gaze strayed to the ceiling.  “Be here when she wakes up?”

“I’ll get you some blankets and you can make up the couch-”

He cleared his throat.  “I was, uh…  I think I need to be closer.  Make sure she knows I’m here, with her, when she wakes.”

Dawn searched his face.  “If she beats the piss out of you when she finds a strange man in her bedroom, don’t blame me.”

“Not strange…”

“Not who she’s used to either.”

Spike started.  “Who?  There… somebody else she’s sleeping with?”

“What if there was?”

“Dawn…” he begged, hands clenched.

She shook her head, eyes rolling skyward.  “The only reason I’m going to answer that is because you two really do need to talk, and it’s not going to happen if you get cold feet and run off.  So, no, there’s no one else.  Buffy’s been a solo sleeper for the last year.”  She turned her inquisitive gaze on him.  “How about you?”

Rather than answer, he shot back up the stairs.  Spike kicked off his boots, then gently unzipped Buffy’s and tugged them off as well, frowning with concern when realized she must have simply collapsed onto her bed and fallen asleep.  He thought about removing his tee, but didn’t want to push his luck.  After considering the hard floor and the lack of anywhere else to sleep, he slid fully clothed into bed next to her, almost purring with satisfaction when she automatically turned into him in her sleep.  Buffy nestled against his body until they fit just so, hips and limbs curving into each other with practiced ease.  Spike tugged her closer and, at peace for the first time in over a year, fell asleep within seconds.

 


	37. Chapter 37

Spike woke with a start, when a sudden movement left the chill night air washing over his previously warm body.  He stared blindly into the blackness, attempting to determine where he was and what had woken him.

“Spike?”

Right.  Of course.  Buffy’s room.

Her voice echoed from some feet over.  “Spike…  Why are you in my bed?”

With a glance at the clock, Spike sat up and swung his legs over the side, trying to locate Buffy in the gloom.  He’d expected to have this conversation, but not at five in the morning, when inky darkness surrounded them.  Then again, maybe it would easier this way.

“I needed to talk to you.”

Buffy was silent, and he could see the faint outline of her body as she moved towards her desk and sat.  “You know, they make these things called phones.  People use them to talk to me during daylight hours.  From somewhere other than my bed.  Tends to lower the creepiness factor.  Unless you do the whole heavy breathing thing, which, honestly, I really don’t recommend.”

He fidgeted, not sure how to explain himself.  “Problem is, over the phone’s not the best way to have a proper heart-to-heart.  See…”  He blew out a breath, and plowed ahead.  “Look.  I wanted to talk to you last night, but you’d scarpered off…  And then you were asleep-”

“So you figured, what?  You’d just climb into bed with me?  Seems like a pretty big liberty, regardless of what happened earlier.  Just because we fucked for old time’s sakes-”

“No we bloody well didn’t!”

“I was there, Spike.  You and me, we got groiny… unless you have a twin I hooked up with in my old office.  Hey, maybe a geeky poet type?  Somebody who goes by the name of William?  You don’t happen to know him, do you?”

He clenched her bed sheets in his fists, trying to stay calm despite the torrent of emotions brought on by her callous needling.  “So that’s all it was to you?  A quick tumble, scratch an itch, send me on my merry way again?”

“You know, it really doesn’t matter.  It was a mistake, okay?  We got caught up in the moment.  So, you don’t have to pretend to spare my feelings, or whatever this is.” 

As Buffy spoke, he rose and moved closer, until he could dimly make out the features of her face.  The slight tremble in her voice told him she wasn’t as calm as she was trying to project.  He knelt before her and took hold of her hand.  “Why does it have to be a mistake?”

“I know casual sex doesn’t bother you, Spike.  But I’m not that girl, remember?”

“Nothing casual ‘bout earlier.  And maybe if you’d stuck around, listened to my side for a change…”  Buffy took her hand back and stood.  She moved past him, to pace her room, and he swiveled to follow her with his eyes.  She was pulling away from him.  Blocking him out.  Again.  Spike set his jaw.  “Can we talk things through, for once?  I think you owe me that.”

Buffy came to a standstill in front of him.  “Owe you?  What exactly do I owe you?  I – Oh…”  She took the chair again.  “You’re right.”  Her voice was oddly penitent, and again Spike wished he could see her expression more clearly.  “After all you’ve done for us.  Please… say your piece.” 

Spike frowned.  “What?  No, that’s not why.  Buffy, the money, everything… it’s freely given.  I don’t want you to feel obligated to me because of it.”

“Kind of hard not to.”

“Well, don’t,” he snapped.  They both were silent, and Spike considered getting up and leaving.  Giving up.  Because she obviously wasn’t about to make this any easier for him.  But even so, he couldn’t help but feel comforted by her proximity, couldn't help wanting to be near her.  And Spike wasn’t the type to give up easily.  “Buffy,” he said, trying to gentle his voice.  “I only meant as one friend to another.  As someone who once cared for me.  Hear me out for a change.”

He could hear her swallow, and then in a quiet voice, she said, “You’re right.  Go on.”

Spike reached for her hand again, using the moment to gather his thoughts.  “I had ice cream, you know.  Back at the club.  Thought a little Phish Food would make this go smoother.”  His plan had been to remind her of better times, of how freely they’d spoken to each other while sitting on the edge of the stage and sharing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s at the end of the evening.  He’d hoped the familiar setting would make it easier for them to do the same once more, but the opportunity was lost now.

“What… really?  When did you go get ice cream?”

“This afternoon.”

“Well, that was kind of presumptuous of you.  How did you know we were going to…  Oh,” Buffy said.  “I think I just figured something out.”

Leaning up onto his knees, Spike peered through the shadows and caught a hint of the turmoil etched on her face.  “That this has nothing to do with us shagging?  That me wanting to be with you now would’ve happened either way, because I missed the woman I love?”

Buffy jerked, and burst into tears.  “That’s n-not what you said earlier.”  The hitching of her chest making her muffled words hard to understand.

At a loss, he pulled her to him, onto his lap, and rocked her while she cried.  “What do you mean?” he asked when she quieted, completely baffled by her response.

She shook her head against his shoulder.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“Have a feeling it does.  Please, Buffy, let’s not do this.  I’m so tired of dancing ‘round what we really want to say.  Feels like you’ve been holding back as much as I know I have, these past weeks.”  When she stayed quiet, he added, “Tell me what you meant.”

She buried her head into the crook of his neck.  “You said ‘this’.  When we were…  You said you missed ‘this’.  Not me.  I thought you meant sex.  Just sex.  And I thought – I thought it didn’t mean anything to you.”

He held her quietly, unable to think of a response, wounded by how little she thought of him.  But when she tried to pull away, he tightened his embrace and found the words he needed.  “Not going to pretend that doesn’t sting.  Because it does.  There’s some part of me what hopes you know me better than to think I could do such a thing to you.  And maybe it’s my fault you don’t.”  The first faint tendrils of dawn had crept into the room, allowing him to see her tear-streaked face when he pulled back to look into her eyes.  “But you listen to me.  You could never be a casual shag.  Told you long ago.  Every time I’m with you, I’m making love to you, and it holds true now as much as it did then.  This is what I’ve been waiting to tell you all night.  You’re still everything to me.  And I was a fool to give up on us.  I’ve missed you every day since.”

Buffy raised her hand to ghost a finger along his lower lip, her eyes soft and questioning.  “You have?”

“Every second of every day.”

“Oh, Spike.”  Her fluttering hand found the back of his neck and tangled in his hair, and she stretched up to kiss him, her lips as ephemeral upon his as her fingertip had been moments earlier.

“Does this mean you missed me too?”

“Missing you has never been the issue.”

“So… what _does_ it mean?  For us?”  Buffy ducked her head against the crook of his neck once more, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape.  “Love?  Is there still something there?  Something worth fighting for?”

 

*******

 

Buffy had drifted into consciousness slowly, reluctant to leave behind the cocoon of warmth and peace that had enveloped her, until she’d been thrust into full alertness by the realization that she wasn’t alone in her bed.  She’d scrambled out from under the arm holding her close, heart pounding in terror until she’d determined it was Spike in her bed. 

Which was only slightly less wig-worthy. 

And now he was asking her the very question she’d wanted to ask him earlier in the night, and though Buffy wanted to scream _Yes!_ at the top of her lungs, she found herself saying something entirely different.

“It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Huh now?”

Being wrapped in his arms made it too hard to think clearly, so she removed herself from his embrace and perched on the edge of her chair once more.  The room was light enough she could see the blue of his eyes now, and the swirling emotions within.  He was so beautiful.  So loving.  Buffy wanted him to be loved the way he deserved. 

“My first reaction tonight?  Was to not trust you…  I automatically believed the worst, and I ran.  Again.  Honestly, Spike, you deserve better than what I can give you.  You deserve better than me.”

“Don’t want better than you.”  He shook his head.  “And that came out wrong.  You’re daft, Buffy, if you think I could ever want anybody other than you.”

“But maybe you should.  Maybe I’m too, I don’t know.  Broken.  To love you properly.  To trust you again.”

“Buffy…”

“I’m serious, Spike.”

He tipped his head.  “I hear you.  But I don’t agree.  You’re scared, I get it.  I’m scared too,” he said with a crooked smile.  “You have the power to destroy me completely.  Already have, in some ways.”

“And that’s why-”

“But love is worth it.  Worth that leap of faith.  It’ll bring more joy than either of us’ll ever know alone.  More potential for heartache, but more joy too.  And I know you have that love in you.”  He reached up to place a hand over her heart, palm flat, fingers splayed.  “I know I screwed up, Buffy.  I know I don’t deserve your trust or your love.  But you _can_ love.  I’ve seen the way you love your friends.  Your family.  I’ve seen your heart, and it’s not broken.  It’s big, and beautiful, and whoever you finally give it to will be the luckiest bloke in the world.” 

She swallowed heavily, her heart thudding against her ribs, against his hand, and wondered if he was right.  Could she love him properly, if only she dared try?

Spike stood and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.  “Just hope it’ll be me when the time comes.”

Buffy leapt to her feet.  “Wait.  Are – are you leaving?” 

“Is there a reason for me to stay?”

And there it was.  The six-million dollar question.  Spike had made his feelings plain, given her the words she’d longed to hear, and now it was time for her to do the same.  Again, she found herself saying something different from what she’d intended.  “I – I don’t know.”  Buffy hadn’t expected Spike to be so easily convinced – or rather, to be the one trying to convince her.  She’d fallen asleep thinking he no longer loved her, and woken to him in her bed, as though he’d never left it.  Holding her close and professing his love the same as he’d once done, easily and freely.  She’d doubted him and believed the worst of him even as she wanted him back, and no matter what he said, Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved better than her.  That trying again would only break them both.

Spike had moved to her door, and he stood there now, his hand upon the handle.  “I tried to forget about you,” he said.  “Couldn’t.  Doubt I ever will.  But much as I’ve loved talking to you these last few weeks, it’s been torture.  Because I know what we could have.  What I’ve lost.  And I don’t think I can do casual anymore, kitten.  I want the whole package with you.  If I can’t have it… then you need to tell me, so I can try to move on with my life.”  He paused, eyes trained on her, awaiting a response that wasn’t forthcoming.

He turned the handle and still Buffy remained frozen, unwilling to let him go but terrified of putting her trust in him when he had broken her heart once already.  The door opened.  With a tortured cry, she raced to his side and then halted, unable to take the last step.  Spike smiled ruefully at her inability, a tiny, disappointed nod acknowledging his understanding. 

“Tell you what.  Maybe I’ll come back after my tour ends, and we can suss it out then.  See where things stand in a few weeks, yeah?”

 

*******

 

She’d let him go.  He’d offered her everything she wanted, heart on his sleeve, and she had let him leave without even a sliver of hope.

Buffy tried to blame it on the early hour, or maybe the unexpectedness of the situation, but deep in her heart, she knew the truth.  She’d failed.  Spike could say whatever he wanted about her ability to love, but the proof was in the pudding, wasn’t it? 

Alone at the gallery, she stared sightlessly ahead, her mind a million miles away from the shipment of figurines she was supposed to be arranging on the display shelves.  Joyce was due to arrive in an hour.  She’d begun coming into the gallery for a few hours a day as her treatment progressed, the cancer seemingly in remission, but Buffy still insisted on handling all physical labor.  She shook away her thoughts and hefted one of the bronze pieces, managing to set it on the top shelf before she lost herself in her musings once more.

Part of her still wished Spike hadn’t turned out to be William, because then she could have continued to hold William in a special place in her heart, untouched by the pain of betrayal.  He could have remained the bittersweet memory of what might have been with a man who had been her secret ideal for years.  But that perfection had been tarnished by the reality of Spike and his secrets.  Now his memory was a reminder of Spike’s lies.  Buffy shifted the bronze horse over an inch, wondering what might have happened if William had been the version to come to Sunnydale, rather than Spike.  She missed the gentle, honorable, well-bred young poet she’d met in Flagstaff.  She missed the brash, sexy-as-hell punk too, perhaps even more so, and Buffy found herself trying to reconcile the two versions of the same man, both of whom had stolen her heart despite being diametric opposites.

If only Spike hadn’t kept William a secret from her.

Of course, he didn’t seem to lie anymore – seem being the key word, and the crux of the problem.  That she felt the need to qualify his honesty meant she didn’t yet trust in it.  On the other hand, Spike was so devoted to telling the truth now, she sometimes wished he’d stop being so honest. 

But could she trust him?

A second horse joined the first.  For a year now, she’d tried to understand how William and Spike could be one and the same.  Physically, it was obvious, but personality-wise…  Buffy wished could meet William again.  Compare the two.  See if the fantasy held up to reality.  She had the vague idea that if she could see Spike choose to behave as William once more, rather than hide that side of his personality away from her, it would somehow help her to overcome her mistrust of him.  Of course, Spike was off on tour right now, and would be for several more weeks, which meant her wish would go unfulfilled.

Buffy wondered if he intended to contact her before then.  It had been a week since he’d walked out of her room in the early morning hours, and there’d been no word from him since, her only updates coming from the band’s websites.  A dozen times a day, she reached for her phone to call him, but always ended up chickening out.  What if she’d driven him away for good this time?

As she lifted the final figurine out of the straw-stuffed crate, Buffy had a sudden thought.  There was, in a way, a chance to see the two sides of his personality.  Both Spike and William.  Through the emails he’d sent her last year.  The long, soul-baring emails she’d ignored so long, she’d somehow forgotten them.  If the rest were similar to the first two she’d read, then maybe Buffy could find gallant, poetry-loving William within.

 

*******

 

In her room later that night, Buffy shut her laptop, eyes dry.  She’d cried herself silly several times over already, most notably when she’d read the lines of poetry he’d written for her.  Poetry that was rough, but as heartfelt as his prose.

She was done crying now, done waffling.  Perhaps she should have realized it sooner, but Spike _was_ William.  The gentle poet had been there all along, hidden in plain sight beneath the bleach and attitude.  How she had missed it, Buffy had no clue, but it was plain as day in his words and actions.  William had attracted her with his sweet, thoughtful, gallant persona, and despite the brash punk re-packaging, Spike – once he’d quit drinking – had displayed all the same characteristics.  William had seemed to admire the strength of her convictions, and so had his punk alter ego.  Spike had believed in her and her ability to do her job, and been as proud of her accomplishments as she had been, much as William had been interested in Buffy and her schoolwork.  As her boyfriend, he’d found small, thoughtful ways to improve her daily life without asking anything in return.  Most telling, Spike had never pushed her for more than she’d been willing to give.  Contrary to her expectations, he’d turned out to be courteous and doting, a perfect gentleman beneath the innuendo and snark. 

Although she still wished he hadn’t, Buffy understood now why he’d hidden himself from her, and why he’d lied.  Now that she’d finally read his letters to her.  She’d forgiven him long ago, but for the first time in a year, she began to feel as though she could also forget and move on. 

With him.

As she readied herself for bed, one particular passage Spike had written stood out, repeating itself in her head while she brushed her teeth and climbed under the sheets.

_You bring out all the best in me, Buffy.  When I’m with you, I can believe in myself._

The thing of it was, Spike-slash-William did the same for her.

 

*******

 

“Hey Giles.  Mom’s in the kitchen,” Buffy said when she answered the door.  “She said to make yourself comfortable and she’ll be out soon.”  She trailed the older man into the living room, then settled on the couch next to him, making small talk until she found the courage to say, “Have you heard from Spike lately?”

Giles contemplated her before answering.  “Just a brief note, here and there.  Yourself?”

She downplayed her interest.  “Oh, we’ve both been so busy.  You know how it is.  Maybe when his tour ends in a few weeks we’ll have the chance to reconnect.”  She blinked, and with forced casualness added, “He mentioned anything about what he’s going to do when it’s over?  Made plans to visit you, maybe?”

He removed his spectacles to polish them, cleaning them carefully and deliberately before answering.  “Not that I am aware of.  Of course, William can be rather impulsive with his decisions, and it may be that he’ll decide to do so at the last moment.”  Giles replaced his glasses and offered Buffy a sympathetic smile.  “I’m certain he’d welcome a call from you.  If you were so inclined.”

Buffy glanced towards the kitchen door, and seeing no sign of her mom, decided to take the risk of confiding in her one-time mentor.  “I miss him, Giles.  But I’m also…”

“Afraid?”

“Yeah.”

“If it’s any consolation, William regrets his choices immensely.”

“I know.  I get that.”  After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “You know, I fell in love with William first.  We didn’t even spend an hour together, but I held a candle for him for years.”

Giles leaned towards her.  “Buffy, Spike _is_ William, beneath it all.  Just as I’ve always been Rupert Giles, no matter what moniker I’ve adopted or how I’ve comported myself.”

She nodded.  “I finally figured that out.”  With a rueful twist of her lips, she added, “I just wish he’d let me see it sooner.”

Joyce interrupted, bustling out of the kitchen with a tea tray, and Buffy sprang to her feet.  “Mom!  You were supposed to let me carry it out.”

“Nonsense.  I’m not an invalid, sweetie.  Not anymore.”  Her smile was bright and chipper.  “I’m tired of being made to feel like I’m in my dotage.”

“I suspect you’ll never be properly capable of appearing old or infirm, but always be young and beautiful,” Giles murmured, rising to take the tea tray.  Buffy rolled her eyes and slipped upstairs, already forgotten by the lovebirds.  Flopping backwards on her bed, she speculated on whether Giles was going to pop the question soon.  She knew he’d planned to once her mother was stronger, and it appeared as though that day had arrived.

For a moment, she considered calling Willow or Dawn, both of whom had begun their fall semesters this week, but decided the time for thinking everything through and talking it over was gone.  It was time for action.

She picked up the phone.  “Hey Brad,” she said when the Dingoes’ booking agent answered.  “I have a favor to ask.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could we be nearing the end? Why yes, we could be. One more chapter plus the epilogue after this. *sniffle*

 

“Two more weeks,” Spike muttered.  “Ten more shows.  We can do this.”

“’Course we can.  Then it’s back home again, where we fall into our beds and don’t move for a week straight,” Charlie said.

Or back to Sunnydale, Spike mused.  Possibly.  He and Buffy had left things up in the air last he’d been there, and he hadn’t heard from her since.  Maybe it was his fault for not bothering to call or email either, but it was a choice he was standing by.  The idea had been to give her time to think things through, let her come to a decision, and after baring his heart to her like the lovelorn sap that he was, Spike had nothing left to say anyhow.  Either she’d forgive him and give him a second chance if and when he showed up on her doorstep, or she wouldn’t.

He took a swig of water, then ran through his voice exercises while they waited.  It was Edge of Insanity’s first performance in an actual arena, and while they were only the opening act, it was still a step up from their usual venues.  Nervous as hell, Spike closed his eyes to picture Buffy, drawing upon a memory of her smile.  He’d found thoughts of Buffy to be more soothing than the bottle of Jack he would have once relied upon.  As her face floated in his mind’s eye, the calm that had eluded him all evening descended, leaving him loose-limbed and ready when the time came.

Waiting in the wings, the roar of the crowd thrilled him, pumped up his adrenaline and made him forget his earlier weariness.  Spike took the stage full of energy, his opening song feeding the frenzy of the fans.  Edge of Insanity swung immediately into the second song without pause, and when it was over, the rough beat had Spike’s blood pounding in his ears.  “Who’s ready to rock?” he screamed, and the audience bellowed their approval.  

He grinned wolfishly, tongue curling, and strutted over to Charlie to sing back-to-back for the beginning of the next number.  Then he prowled across the stage to give the spectators on the far end his undivided attention.  He let fans’ hands grasp his, doling out winks and lascivious leers with practiced ease, making sure the audience members got their money’s worth. 

Spike was almost halfway through the first set before he finally took a good look at the fans in the middle.  A flash of bouncing blonde at front and center had caught his eye earlier, but he’d ignored her – so many blonde girls, and never the one he really wanted.  Still, she had one of the best seats in the arena, and a good musician, the kind with business sense, knew to cater to the fans.  Especially those with money.  He strutted his way to center stage, planning to fall to his knees right at the front edge and give bouncy little Blondie the memory of a lifetime, when –

Mid-strut, her eyes caught his. 

For once, it really was the girl of his dreams. 

She smiled and – bloody buggering hell – flashed him her tits; glorious bare mounds on display _right in front of him_.  In the middle of a fucking arena.  Spike stumbled.  Squeaked out, “Buffy…” rather than whatever lyrics were meant to come next.  She dropped her shirt and waggled her fingers, laughter floating up to him, eyes sparkling.  From somewhere to his left, he heard Charlie pick up the chorus he’d botched, much as he’d used to do back when Spike’s screw-ups were regular and expected.  Though in this case, it was due to astonishment rather than intoxication.  Or maybe it was intoxication of a different kind.

Swallowing heavily, he recovered himself with barely a moment’s pause.  Spike joined his guitarist in signing the refrain, reversing the direction of his footsteps until they stood side-by-side, sharing a microphone as though they’d planned it that way all along.  The entire time, he kept his gaze fixed on Buffy, trying to drink in the reality of her presence.

She screamed as loudly as the rest of the fans when the song ended, and Spike wondered how he hadn’t heard her voice over the others before now.  Or noticed her at all.  Now that he knew she was in the audience, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  Every word of the next song, every sinuous movement, became for her and her alone.  He prowled the stage, rolling his hips the way he knew drove her crazy.  He dropped hooded glances her direction every few seconds; tossed her a lingering, steamy look in between lavishing attention on other members of the crowd.  In front of her once more, he slid his hand down his chest and torso, then lower still, eliciting the sought-after sight of Buffy’s heaving chest and glazed eyes.

Her pink tongue darted out, moistening her lips, and he grew impossibly hard.

Spike made it to the end of the set, but rather than take the scheduled break, he huddled his band mates into conference.  “You lot remember that duet I wrote for the Dingoes, ‘Yours Alone’?  Well enough to give it a go?”

They nodded.  “That’s your girl, down in front, isn’t it?” his drummer asked, and Spike couldn’t help the sappy grin that stole over his face.

“Yeah.  Yeah, it is.”

“Quit screwing around with us and go get her, then,” Charlie told him.

Buffy’s eyes never left his as he came to stand directly above her once more, and he could feel her tension, feel the way her body strained towards his.  He licked his lips, and said in a deep rumble, “We’re meant to be taking a break right now, but I’d like to do one more song first.  One that is very close to my heart.  It’s called ‘Yours Alone’, by a fantastic band, Dingoes Ate My Baby.  If you’ve never heard of the Dingoes before, make sure to look them up on YouTube later.”  Spike dropped to one knee and extended a hand to Buffy.  “We’re lucky enough to be graced with one of the Dingoes’ lead singers tonight, Buffy Summers!”

She took his hand with a small whimper, her wide, green eyes growing impossibly huge when he pulled her into his embrace in front of the cheering crowd.  “Sing with me, kitten?” he asked in a low voice, so only she could hear.  Buffy nodded, lips slightly parted, gaze firmly fixed upon his face. 

“I’m going to kiss you very, very soon.  Right after this song,” he whispered into her ear, and smiled when he heard her gulp.  Before she could reply, Charlie strummed the opening chords. 

Though they’d only sung once together in the last year, and never outside of the Bronze, Buffy fell into the easy back and forth rhythm without any effort on her part.  They both gripped the microphone, sharing it as they took their turns to sing the words of love and adoration to each other.  Spike wished he could freeze time, because he didn’t think he would ever be happier than he was in this moment.

She was here.  She’d come to him.  It had to mean something, right?

 

*******

 

With each word he sang, the rough punk who called himself Spike melted away before her eyes.  He straightened, and his hips stilled their constant, subtle gyration.  The line of his jaw softened.  His hard, dangerous, sexy edge faded, until it was William who stood beside her.  Those impossibly blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Buffy could see the hints of natural honey-brown curls beneath the gel, where his roots needed touching up.  Her skin tingled where his broad hand rested on her waist, under the hem of her t-shirt, and his other hand, wrapped around hers on the microphone, felt _right_.

_It’s William.  I’ve found him again.  After all this time._

The song ended, and Spike pulled her a little tighter.  He shouted over the applause, “We’re Edge of Insanity, and we’ll be back in ten minutes!”

Buffy was breathless with anticipation when he tugged her into the wings, but unlike the last time she’d sung with him, he didn’t attack her, didn’t kiss her as promised, only stared in wonder.  His eyes roamed her face, and he clasped her hands in his.  “Buffy,” he murmured.  “Is it really you?  Are you really here?”

She freed one of her hands to cup his face.  “Surprise!”

“I…  This might be the happiest moment of my entire bloody life,” he said, and then he was crushing her to him, stealing her breath with his kisses, until her fingers and toes tingled from lack of oxygen.

“So, you like my surprise, I take it?” Buffy said with a laugh when she pulled away to catch her breath, her entire body humming pleasantly

“Love it.”  He punctuated each word with a kiss to her face.  “Love that you’re here.  Love you.”  He pulled back to smirk at her.  “Love the shirt, too.  Have to say it’s a good look for you, having me all over your tits.”

Buffy’s lower lip jutted out.  “I was getting tired of seeing you all over everybody else’s.”  She perked up.  “You want to sign it for me?”

“Gonna do you one better, sweetheart.”  Spike opened his mouth to tell her what he was going to do, and then his eyebrows drew together, forming a sharp crease.  He cocked his head to study her.  “Buffy, love…”

When he didn’t continue, her heart rate skyrocketed.  Did he… was he upset she was here?  Her mind spun with possibilities, each worse than the last.  “Spike, just spit it out!” she said in a rush, unable to take the suspense.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.  “I’ve got to know.  Are you here because you made a decision?  About us?  Don’t want to go making assumptions, bollix everything up like last time, or-”

She cut him off mid-babble.

“Yes.”

Spike swallowed again.  “Yes, what?  Hate to sound so bloody dense, but you’re going to have to be a mite more clear.”

Buffy stood on her tippy toes to whisper in his ear.  “Yes, I made a decision.  And I choose us.  You and me.”  He leaned back to search her eyes, a look of beatific awe upon his face.  Spike must have found the answers he was looking for, because he kissed her again, even more passionately than before, and didn’t let up until somebody nearby cleared their throat.

“Sorry to interrupt the happy reunion,” Charlie said, leering at them, “but your sexy lips have other business at the moment, mate.  There’ll be time enough for snogging later.  Sorry, lass.”

“Sod off,” Spike growled at his guitarist, then turned back to her.  “You’ll stay right here, won’t you?  Won’t go anywhere?”

“But my seat!”

He ran a thumb across her lip.  “This spot’s better, I promise.”

“Hmmm.  Okay.”  They smiled at each other.  “Hey, so what were you planning to do instead of autograph my shirt?”

Spike’s eyes darkened, and he ghosted a hand up her bare arm, then down her side.  His fingers brushed the swell of her breast, sending her pulse racing once more.  “Going to autograph your delicious titties.”  He leaned closer.  “With my tongue.  And I intend to do it very, very slowly.  Probably take most of the night.”

Buffy’s breath came in short gasps, and it was her turn to swallow heavily.  Spike waggled his eyebrows at her, tongue dancing over his teeth, and then he walked away, leaving her trembling and weak.  “Wait!”  Buffy stumbled after him and caught his arm, pulling him back into the wings, away from the curious eyes of the crowd.

“I have to go, love,” he said softly, running a hand through her hair.  “Would rather say sod it all, but it’s not fair to my mates.  I’ll be done in an hour, less even.  After all this time, I think we can wait one more hour.”

“No, I know.  But I _have_ to tell you this before you go back out there.  It can’t wait even another hour.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Spike…  _William_ ,” she corrected, emphasizing the name she’d first known him by.  He started at her use of his given name, and cocked his head, eyes squinting curiously while he waited for her to continue.  Buffy grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart, echoing the way he’d done so in her bedroom scant weeks ago.  “I love you.”  She leaned in to brush her lips against his, then repeated her words against his ear.  “I love you.”

His eyes were closed when she pulled away, fluttering eyelashes dark on his cheek.  His face was blissful, almost glowing.  Buffy expected him to shake it off and hurry back onstage, where his band was warming up and sending impatient glances their way.  Instead, he opened his mouth and, eyes still closed, began to recite:

  
_“How great delight from those sweet lips I taste_   
_Whether I hear them speak, or feel them kiss!_   
_Only this want I have, that being graced_   
_With one of them, the other straight I miss._   
_Love, since thou canst do wonders, heap my blisses_   
_And grant her kissing words, or speaking kisses.”_

 

His visage was terrified when he opened his eyes once more, and he coughed then jerked away, embarrassed.  “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Buffy pulled him back to her side.  “Please.  Don’t hide William from me.  Ever.  I love that side of you.  And…  And I miss it.”

“Would you rather I was William?” 

His apprehension was written plainly upon his face, and Buffy smiled in reassurance.

“Just be _you_.  I love you – _all_ of you.”  Spike’s blissful expression returned, and he relaxed.  “Although… if you wanted to look like your old self again, I wouldn’t mind.  In fact, it might be kind of hot.  I used to, um…”  She stared at his knees, unable to look him in the eye.  “ _FantasizeaboutWilliamduringsexwithAngel_.  Because it was the easiest way to… you know…  Get off."  Buffy’s cheeks flamed in mortification, but Spike took it the way she’d hoped.

“Oh, kitten.”  He lifted her chin with one finger, lust-darkened eyes devouring her face.  When he pressed his body against hers, his rock-hard erection rubbed against her belly, and Buffy’s thighs, already trembling from the way he’d seduced her from the stage, turned to jelly.  “You,” he said in a low rumble.  “Are going to give me _all_ the nasty details when I get you back to my hotel later.”

With that, Spike tore himself away and jogged onto the stage. 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Spike recites is actually a musical composition (a madrigal) written way back in 1622 by Thomas Tompkins. Call it poetic license (ha!).


	39. Chapter 39

 

The second set consisted of only eight songs, but they were the longest eight songs of Buffy’s life.  Spike must have felt the same way, because he spent far too much time making eyes at her rather than paying attention to his audience.  As soon as Edge of Insanity had finished, he rushed straight to her side and pulled her into his embrace.  He was thoroughly gross and sweaty from performing, but Buffy had never enjoyed the feel of his arms around her more.  She pressed even more tightly to him and rested her head against his perspiration-soaked shirt, resisting the automatic inclination to pull away.

“Just need to help them break everything down, love, and then we can get out of here.”

Charlie came up behind them.  “Forget about it.  Just go.  The nervous state you’re in, you’re liable to ruin the equipment anyways.”  He turned to her.  “’Lo, Buffy.  It’s nice to see you again, though we’ve never been properly introduced.  Name’s Charlie.”

Buffy did her best to shake his proffered hand, which was a bit awkward, since Spike refused to let go of her.  “Um, hi.  Nice to meet you too.”

“We’ll have to save getting to know each other for another day, seems like,” Charlie said, laughing, and then he fixed Spike with a ferocious glare.  “Be sure you’re treating her right this time, eh?  No more chasing the lass off.”

“Don’t plan on ever letting her go.”

With a smile and a nod, Charlie hurried off to help the rest of the band and their tour support.  Spike stared after him, clearly torn.  “We could both go help; it’s not like I don’t know what to do,” Buffy offered.  As if he’d heard her, the bassist turned and made shooing motions at them.  “Or… not.”

“Yeah.  They’ll handle it fine.”  Spike twined his fingers with hers and led her away, a series of excited questions bubbling out of him.  “How’d you get such a great seat?  You got any luggage?  When d’you have to leave?”

Buffy laughed.  “Whoa there, take a breath.  I’m here.  I’m not going to vanish.  We’re in no rush.” 

Spike stopped, eyes dancing, and kissed her.  “Like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”  They began to walk again.  “Brad got me the ticket.  And all my things are at a hotel a few blocks over.”

“What on earth did you get a hotel room for?”

She looked up at him.  “Um, just in case you weren’t happy to see me?”

“Daft woman,” he snorted.  “As if.  ’M _very_ happy to see you, pet.”  Spike pulled her close again, so she could feel the proof of his statement.  His hands slid downwards to cup the curve of her buttocks, and Buffy stood on her tippy-toes to rub up against his hardness.

“Hmm, yes you are.”

They continued down the corridor.  “We’re at the hotel right across the street,” Spike said.  “Up to you where we go.”

Buffy picked up her pace.  “I’m thinking yours.  It’s closer,” she explained, when he looked at her questioningly.  “Then maybe we could get my stuff… later?”

He wrapped his arm more tightly around her.  “Like the way you’re thinking, kitten.  You hungry?  Want to get some dinner first?”

“Does the hotel have twenty-four hour room service?”  He nodded, smiling, and they both walked a little quicker.

At the gate, Spike nodded to the security guard and strolled right outside, past the small crowd gathered there.  A few people called out to him, but most of them only watched the couple walk by.  “They’re here for the headliners,” he told her when she asked about it.  “We have our rabid fan base, no doubt about it, but we’re in the golden almost-famous stage.  People are buying are songs and keeping us well fed, but we’re not a household name yet.  Means I can still walk down the street unmolested.  Hope it stays like this, truth be told.”

Buffy breathed out a sigh of relief.  “Oh good, now I don’t have to feel bad for thinking the same thing.  Not that I don’t want you to be ridiculously rich and famous, but…”

“S’nice to be just a regular bloke when I want.”

“Exactly.”  She glanced at the hotel front they were approaching.  “A regular bloke staying at a very swank hotel.”

Spike laughed.  “Usually we’re tight-fisted bastards.  This was to celebrate our moving up to the big leagues.  And it’s damned convenient, right across the street like this.”

“Mmm.  Me like.  Do you have to check out in the morning, or…?”

“Nope, got it for this night and the next; then we move on to the next city.  Wherever the sodding hell it is, can’t keep ‘em straight anymore.”

“Atlanta.”

He cocked his head.  “Yeah?”

Buffy blushed.  “I planned to go to that one too.  And the one after.  Just in case tonight didn’t work out for whatever reason.”

Spike stepped out of the way of the revolving lobby door and tugged Buffy to the side, against the wall.  He searched her eyes intently, and then a slow smile crept over his face.  “You’re serious, then.  ‘Bout this.  ‘Bout us.”

She blushed harder.  “Well, yeah.”  Frowning, Buffy added, “You didn’t believe me?”

He gave an embarrassed shrug.  “Did. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Reality to set in.  Can’t help but wonder if you might run off, virtue a-fluttering, after tonight.  Not that I wouldn’t deserve it,” he said hurriedly.  “But still.  Haven’t yet wrapped my mind around the possibility of a happy ever after for us, that’s all.  Still a little gobsmacked you’re even here.”

“I’m here.”  Buffy cupped his cheek, dismayed Spike had such a hard time believing she would actually choose to be with him.  “Get used to it, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere.”

Spike pulled her close and didn’t speak again, though his eyes glistened, and she caught him swallowing several times.  Buffy found herself swallowing repeatedly too.  Her mouth felt cottony dry, and her skin buzzed from the way his fingertips, nestled beneath her t-shirt, traced feathery patterns across her waist and hip.  He led her onto the elevator, still silent, and there was barely time for a single, searing kiss before it was time to exit onto the fourth floor.  Spike fumbled the key card out of his pocket and into the slot, flipped it and tried again, then cursed and repeated his actions.  He grew more and more agitated when the lock refused to cooperate, and soon he stepped back to aim a kick at the door. 

Buffy caught his foot before he could let it fly, and tried to stifle her giggle at his sour look.  “Give that here.”  She took the card out of his hand, only to fumble with the lock twice before it would open for her.  She turned to Spike and brandished the card in triumph. 

He made a face.  “Clever little thing, aren’t you?”  And before she could respond, he’d scooped her into his arms, carried her through the now open door, and kicked it shut behind them.  Spike crossed the room in three long strides and fell to the bed with her still in his arms, their bodies bouncing with the impact, legs going every which way.

“Think I made a promise to you.”  His voice was a low, sinful rumble she felt rather than heard, and Buffy shivered.  Spike pinned her arms above her head and lowered his mouth to suck on her fabric-covered breast, and she squirmed beneath him, eyes closed in pleasure.  He used his free hand to push her t-shirt up, and she gasped at the feel of his tongue flicking across her bare nipple.  “Now, what did you want this autograph to say, kitten?  Want something long and involved, with lots of words to fit, so I’ll have to make them teeny-tiny like this?”  His tongue moved in short, sharp jerks across her bare skin.  “Or did you want short and sweet, so I can make the words big as I like?”  He flattened his tongue, drawing it across her other breast in slow, broad strokes, and Buffy couldn’t think to form an answer, never mind verbalize it.

“Speak up, kitten.  Can’t give you want you want if you don’t-”  Spike paused, body suddenly tense.  Buffy opened her eyes, her hazy mind wondering at the interruption.  “Fuck!” he burst out.  “Bloody buggering _fuck_.”

“Wha-”

Spike groaned and shook his head in disgust.  “I don’t have any sodding rubbers.  Shit.”  He sat up, expression both apologetic and longing, his attention riveted to Buffy’s bare breasts.  “I’m so sorry, love.  Have to go get some, but I’ll be right back.  I’m sure there’s a druggist nearby.  Maybe you can order some dinner, or…?” 

She struggled to catch his meaning.  “Don’t have… rubbers?”

“You know.  Condoms.  Protection.”  He smiled wryly.  “Wasn’t expecting to need any.  Didn’t know I’d be lucky enough to be sharing my bed with the most beautiful woman in the world tonight.”

Buffy’s heart skipped a beat.  If he wasn’t bothering to keep condoms on hand… 

“It’s okay,” she hurried to assure him.  “I’m on the pill now.  Since…”  Since what had happened last time, at the Bronze, when they’d forgotten to worry about protection.  “Since I knew I was going to come see you,” she said instead, which was also the truth.  “Unless, um… unless we need protection for some other reason?”  Buffy ended her question with a wince, hating to ask such a thing, but they’d been apart for a year.  Things could have changed in that time.

His pleased expression faded into a confused frown, quickly followed by dawning understanding and a wince of his own.  “Right.  Probably best to cover those topics now.”

“Sorry,” Buffy squeaked.  “I didn’t mean to be all mood-breaker-y.  It’s – never mind, just forget about it.  I – I trust you.” 

_Great way of showing it_ , she berated herself.

“And I’m going to keep in that way.”  He patted his lap.  “C’mere.  Please?”  Buffy tugged her shirt down and obliged, and Spike held her close and sighed into her hair.  “When I first left for London…  I did about what you’d expect.  Tried my old life on for size.” 

She tensed, unwilling to hear his confession.  “I don’t need to hear it.  I know you want to be all honest all the time, and I appreciate it.  I do.  But maybe some things are better left unsaid.”  Buffy could feel him shaking his head. 

“Nope.  Not making that mistake again.  Love you more than anything, but things have changed in the last year.  We’ve both changed.  Much as I want to say sod it, deal with all our issues later, and just worry ‘bout making love to you ‘til we both can’t walk straight, doing things right this time is more important to me.  You’re important to me.”

Buffy swallowed and turned her face up to his.  “And even though I _already_ screwed it up, it’s important to me that you know I trust you.  Implicitly.”

“How can you?”

“Because I love you.  Because I choose to.  Because I _do_.  You’re such a good man, Spike.  I _know_ it.  I’ve seen it.”  She looked back down again, and mumbled shamefacedly, “I knew it a year ago too, and I should have remembered.”  Her voice dropped even lower.  “I overreacted about everything.  And refusing to even listen to your side was kinda unfair.  I know I haven’t said it yet, but I’m sorry.”

“I – you had reasons.  I understood.”

“Quit being so understanding.  It’s aggravating.”

Spike laughed.  “Fair enough.” 

“It’s true, though.  I choose to trust you.  If I don’t – if you’re always forced to tell me _every_ little detail – it’s not healthy.  It’s not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He trailed his fingers through her hair, letting it slide through his fingers and fall across her shoulder.  “Don’t feel forced to tell you, love.  I _want_ to.  I always wanted to share with you, before.  I’d just dug myself a hole and didn’t know how to fix it, stupid wanker that I was.  This – finally being able to tell you everything – you don’t know what a relief it is.”

Oh.  _Oh._   And suddenly the trust she had in him was no longer a leap of faith.  It just _was_. 

Oblivious to her epiphany, Spike was still talking.  “Didn’t last long, you know.  My return to the old ways.  Got some sense kicked into me right quick, and anyhow, it wasn’t… I didn’t want to sully what we’d had.  Hurting though I was, I knew you’d think ill of me if you found out, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it.  Even without the hope of ever winning you back, I still wanted to be worthy of you.”

Buffy smiled into his chest.  Spike’s words touched her, profoundly, but she still couldn’t help but be amused at how much of a drama queen he could be sometimes.

“I’m glad it didn’t stick.  And proud of you, you know.  I told you you were strong.  A good man.”  She twisted to straddle him, so they were face to face.  “ _And_ I’m sorry I drove you to that point in the first place.  You don’t know how much I wish…  Well, anyhow.  Let’s just say that stupid kiss in the Bronze was the one and only I’ve shared with anyone since we broke up.”

“Really?”

She shrugged.  “I tried a few times.  Especially when we were on the road – it’s the expected thing to do, isn’t it?  Never even got as far as a kiss, though.  I was too busy pining for you to be interested in another man.  Nobody else compared.”

Spike’s tongue danced over his lower lip.  “Ruined you for other men, did I?”

Ready to move past the apologies, Buffy leaned forward to capture that soft, full lip between her teeth.  She nibbled on it, then skimmed her lips along his jaw line.  “You did.  I think you’d best make up for it, ‘cause I’ve been ever so lonely since.”

“Oh kitten…”

“Shh.  No more.  It’s past, and the future is bright and shiny and waiting for us.  Oh, hey!  And speaking of – I have a new vocation.”

Spike leaned back to take her in more fully.  “Yeah?  What’s that?”

“It’s just a temporary one… but I’m pretty excited.  Going to do some travelling, see the sights…”

“And what is this new job?”  There was a touch of impatience in his question.

“I’m a groupie!”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Yup, for the next two weeks.  I’m going to follow this totally amazing band around, and I’m kinda hoping the lead singer will notice me – he’s _really_ sexy – and-”

Spike growled and twisted to tackle her to the bed, tickling her until she shrieked with laughter and screamed for mercy.  “You think you’re so funny,” he said, pinning her under the weight of his body, his erection hard against her thigh.

She wriggled until he was positioned between her legs.  “Well – well…” she panted, still trying to catch her breath.  “If you don’t like _that_ idea, you could always take me with _you_ for the next two weeks.”  Spike nuzzled her neck and made contented, approving noises.  “If you wanted to.  If I wouldn’t be a bother,” she added.

He pushed up on his arms to stare at her.  “Be a…?  How the bloody hell would you be a bother?”

“The rest of your band might not like it?  I’d hate to be a Yoko Buffy Ono.  And I’m not sure about your travel or sleeping arrangements, so I don’t know if I’ll be in the way.  Or…”  She looked away.  “You might not think it’s such a great idea?”

“Don’t be a ninny.  S’the best one you’ve ever had, and since you’re prone to brilliant ideas, that’s saying something.”

Buffy dared to look at him again, and was dazzled by the love she saw in his eyes.  Love, and pure joy.  It was a look she wanted to see on Spike’s face as often as possible.  A look she wanted to be the cause of for the rest of their lives.  “Okay then.  And after the tour’s over, you’ll come home with me, back to Sunnydale?  At least for a bit?”

Spike lowered his head and rested his forehead upon hers.  “Kitten.  I’d follow you to the ends of the earth for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Sap,” she whispered, and kissed him.

This time, when Spike edged her shirt higher, there were no interruptions.  He set back to work autographing her breasts with deliberation, alternating between short and broad strokes until Buffy, desperate, pleaded with him to move on.  “I can’t wait anymore.  I need to you make love to me _now_ ,” she said, and he was more than happy to oblige.  They undressed each other slowly, taking the time to explore each new bit of exposed flesh and reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies.

“So beautiful,” Spike murmured, trailing a hand down her bared torso.  “So exquisite.”  His tongue followed, mapping each of her pleasure points with perfect recall.  Buffy moaned and sighed beneath him, the oft-visited memory of his touch giving way to reality.

She reached out a shaky hand to stroke his cock, pumping down and then back up, and added a swipe of her thumb over the tip.  She smiled when it jumped and twitched at her touch.  Spike thrust into her hand and groaned.  “Christ, yeah.  Squeeze me just like that, kitten.  Feels even better than I remembered.  Missed your hot little hands.”  He raised himself up to look into her eyes.  “Missed _you_ ,” he emphasized.

Buffy smiled, and guided him to her aching entrance.  “I love you,” she said.  “So much.”

Spike remained poised at her opening, barely penetrating her.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Never gonna tire of hearing that.”

“Then I’ll never stop saying it.  I love you.”

“Love you too.  Love you forever, Buffy.”  With that, he plunged into her, making her gasp and arch her back.  Spike bent to take a nipple in his mouth, and he suckled it gently as he set a slow, sweet pace.  Buffy’s hands feathered over his shoulders, down his arms and back up again before coming to rest on his back.  She wrapped one leg around him, to hold him more tightly to her, and urged him on with her hips.  “Relax, pet,” he said.  “We have all night.  And all tomorrow too.  Going to take good care of you.”

“It’s been so long,” she said.

Spike kissed her shoulder.  “All the more reason to let me love you nice and slow.  Make it extra-good.”  He twisted their bodies to the side for a different angle, his unhurried thrusts hitting just the right spot, and Buffy gasped her approval.

“Oh… okay.  Yes.  I think you’re right.”

“Has to happen sometimes, kitten.”

He kissed his way down the curve of her neck, and Buffy’s head lolled to the side, her skin abuzz wherever his lips touched.  As Spike moved within her, she used her free hand to explore the muscles flexing and bunching in his back and along the swell of his ass.  A steady, slow burn built inside of her, so gradual that the tidal wave of an orgasm washing over her took her by surprise.  He claimed her cries of pleasure with his mouth, swallowing them down, moving steadily all the while.  When Buffy lay limp and sated beneath him, he cupped her face and murmured endearments in her ear.  She returned them languidly, and undulated her hips in time with his until it was her turn to kiss away his groan of completion. 

Buffy nuzzled into Spike’s shoulder, curling up around him.  “Love you,” she said, suddenly too warm and sleepy to keep her eyes open.  The last thing she heard as she drifted off was Spike telling her he loved her too.

 

*******

 

Spike watched Buffy as she slept trustingly in his arms, a faint trace of a smile playing about her lips, too overwhelmed by his emotions to fall asleep himself. 

He hadn’t needed to return to Sunnydale to try to win her back; she’d come after him instead.  She’d _chosen_ him, and he finally knew what it was like to have Buffy Summers on his side, have all her love and loyalty aimed his way.

It was a glorious feeling.

Buffy shifted and murmured his name, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “Shhh, love,” he whispered.  “I’ve got you.  Not going anywhere.”

“Don’t ever leave again,” she said sleepily.  “Need you.  Love you.”

She drifted back into slumber, and Spike swore he would do his damndest to be worthy of that love every day for the rest of his life.

 


	40. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Much thanks to all my readers, and everybody who was kind enough to comment along the way. Reviews are always very much appreciated! Thanks also to my betas: 3hours, science, and the denizens of Chatzy. A special thanks to the lovely reader who nominated this for the RWSA - it won in the WIP category. Yay! And of course, kudos to Joss Whedon for creating this world and allowing us to play in it.
> 
> If anybody has *constructive* criticism to offer, but would rather not leave it under a review, feel free to PM or email me. I'm always looking to improve.

 

Buffy drew a big, black _X_ over the empty square on the wall calendar beside her bed.  It joined a page full of similar marks, all counting down the days until she left for London.  Only seven more empty squares remained.  It felt like forever, rather than a week, but after almost two months of this daily ritual, she was anxious for it to be over.  To finally be on the plane.

To be with Spike once more.

She’d been counting down since she’d bought her plane ticket, but it was even longer since she’d seen him last, and Buffy missed Spike desperately.  Much as she hated it, spending more time apart than together looked to be their life for the foreseeable future.  Such was the life of a rock star’s girlfriend.  Spike had returned to Sunnydale with her when Edge of Insanity’s last tour had ended, and stayed through Christmas, but then he’d left on tour again after the new year, this time in Europe.  Buffy had flown out to join him for a weekend in Berlin, and again in Prague, but that had been months ago and she hadn’t seen him since – not unless you counted the YouTube clips she devoured the moment they were posted. 

On Valentine’s Day, when Buffy had been in Prague with Spike, Giles had finally asked Joyce to marry him.  Planning the perfect summer wedding with her mom ate up all her free time – the little bit she had left over after acting as publicist for the Dingoes, part-time art gallery manager for her mom, and part-time publicist for the Bronze.  Some days, Buffy wasn’t sure how she kept it all straight, but it did keep her occupied with Spike away.

When she was ready for bed, she texted her boyfriend.  _You up yet?_

Her phone rang moments later.  “’Lo, gorgeous.  Love you.”

“Love you too,” she answered.  “What do you have planned for today?”

“Wanking off to the sound of your sexy voice.”

“Again?”

“You want me to give up the best part of my day?”

Buffy rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her.  “I miss you too.  Okay, so _besides_ that, what are you doing today?”

Edge of Insanity had returned to London several weeks ago, to play the London club scene in between tours, but Spike had also used the time to pack up his life there in preparation to move to America.  For good, this time.  Buffy was going to fly out and join him for his final few weeks overseas, let him show her the place he grew up.  She was looking forward to it.  They hadn’t yet hammered out all the details of who would live where, or how they would deal with being separated so often, but she knew they would work things out.  She wasn’t going to lose the man she loved again.

“Have an appointment scheduled with the solicitor in a few hours.  Not much else.  What’d you do?”

She ran through the litany of her day, and then the conversation turned to whispered promises and shared confidences, until Buffy’s eyes closed, her lips curving upwards as she drifted off into slumber.

 

*******

 

She woke to a text message from Spike asking her to call him.  “What’s up?”

“Looks like we’re going on tour again.  Sometime in the fall.”

Buffy tried to sound enthused, even though it meant being apart _again_.

“S’not the best part,” Spike told her after she’d congratulated him.  “We’ll be touring the west coast this time – as top billing.”

Well, that was better news.  West coast meant close to home.  Easy to visit.  And – “Top billing?  Oh, Spike!  That’s wonderful!”  She didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm this time.  “Where, when – give me details.”

“Still working everything out,” he replied.  “It’ll depend on our opening act.  Got to coordinate it with them.  Talk to their manager and their publicist, all that jazz.”

“And?  When’re you going to do that?”

“Got their publicist on the line right now, don’t I?”

“What are you doing talking to me, then?  Hang up and pay attention to them!”

Spike laughed.  And laughed some more.  “God, I love you,” he said.  Buffy considered hanging up, until she realized…

“Asshole.”

“Well?  Think the Dingoes are up for it?”

Buffy grinned despite her embarrassment.  “I can’t see why not.  They’re just playing the club circuit for the next few months, and I don’t know of any plans after that.”

“Excellent.  They’ll have to agree to some terms if they want to open for us, though.  We’re not interested unless they bring their female lead back.”

Thrown off guard, she automatically began to protest.  “I don’t…”

“No negotiation on that front.”

Buffy didn’t answer.  It had been a long time since she’d performed, and she didn’t miss the life of a band on the road.  On the other hand, she did miss singing… _and_ it would be the perfect excuse to follow her boyfriend around on tour without feeling like a groupie with no life of her own.

Spike interrupted her musings.  “Love?  If you wanted to be a Dingo again, there’ll be nothing holding you back.  Your mum’s better now, and she and Rupert will be newlyweds soon enough.  They’re not going to be wanting you hanging around their love nest.”

“Ew, Spike.”

“Just saying it like it is.  Joyce doesn’t need you to mother hen her anymore.  It’s time for you to start thinking about what comes next, and, well…  Call me selfish, but I want you with me.  I hate being apart from you.”  Buffy’s heart melted at his admission.  “If it’s not what _you_ want, no pressure.  You do what’s right for you, and we’ll figure it out from there.  But if the idea holds any appeal…”

Yeah.  The idea had lots of appeal.  But did she want to perform, or just have an excuse to be with Spike?  Buffy wasn’t sure.  “Let me think about it.  Do you want me to talk to the others, or are you going to go through Brad?”

“Best to do it all proper-like, I suppose.  I just wanted to give you a heads up.  Get you considering the idea.”  He paused for a moment, then asked in a rush, “So?  You made up your mind yet?”

Buffy laughed.  “No, Mr. Impatient, I haven’t.  Give me a couple days at least, silly.”

Spike muttered and grumbled.  “Want you to go on this next tour with me no matter what, whether it’s as a Dingo or not.  Miss you, kitten.”

“And I miss you.  But I’ll see you in six days.”

“S’not nearly soon enough.”

“No,” Buffy agreed.  “Not nearly.  But when I get to London, you’ll have me all to yourself for days and days.”

“You always do know how to make me feel better, love.”

Buffy glanced at the countdown she had running on her computer.  “Just think.  In only a hundred and fifty-odd hours, we can be…”  She whispered the next part into the phone, and smiled when Spike groaned in response.

Six more days.  It felt like an eternity.

 

*******

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”  Buffy scanned the titles on the library shelf again, double-checking them against the paper she held in her hand.  “ _The Perfect Wedding Reception: Ideas for Every Season_ ,” she murmured to herself.  “It’s not here.” 

Except her mom had looked online before she’d left home, and _The Perfect Wedding Reception_ had definitely been checked in.  Buffy made her way back up front, to the computers, and searched for the title.  _Checked in_ , the computer said, and listed the book’s location as on the shelf.  She pursed her lips, wondering if her mother really had to have _this_ particular book, and hurried outside to call her.

“Mom?  The book’s gone.  Want a different one?”

“Oh honey, are you sure?  It has a photograph of the exact bouquet I want, and I’d really like to show it to the florist this afternoon.  I suppose I could order the book off Amazon, but it would be a few days before it got here…”

Buffy bit back a huff of irritation.  Her mother wasn’t normally a bridezilla, and she was glad to help.  Really.

Usually.

More so when she didn’t already have a full day planned, and only six days left in which to accomplish everything she needed to before she flew to London for most of a month.  Still.  This was her mom.  Whom she loved.  Buffy forced a smile.  “Don’t worry, I’ll go poke around some more.  Maybe it’s been mis-shelved.”

“Thank you, sweetie.  You don’t know how much I appreciate it.  I’d go look myself, but-”

“It’s okay.  Here to help.”

“Give me a call if you have any more trouble.”

Back inside, she scanned the nearby shelves, then stood, hands on her hips, thinking.  If the front desk didn’t have the book, and it wasn’t on the shelves… maybe it was on one of the side tables?  The librarian had promised to come help as soon as she was done up front, but a quick glance showed the checkout queue was as long as ever.  She might as well get started on her own.  Buffy smiled, remembering a similar search in another library, and wondered for a moment what might have happened if she’d never met William.  Would she and Spike have fallen in love sooner?  Or perhaps not at all? 

The second wasn’t a happy thought.  Buffy pushed it away, along with the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail.  She hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings, hoping to hurry in, grab the book, and hurry back out, but now she lifted her eyes and surveyed the area.  There was a bare table nearby, and two small sitting areas at either end of the stacks.  The sitting area closest to the front of the library was empty save for a few books piled on the table, while somebody was using the one to the rear.  Buffy could just see a man’s trouser-clad knee around the corner of the shelving unit.  She investigated the unused sitting area first, then circled towards the back one, stopping along the way to check the books scattered in various locations, waiting to be re-shelved.

As she neared the couch in the back, Buffy’s heart began to hammer in her chest.  Though the angle of his head prevented her from seeing his face, she felt certain she knew the man occupying the couch.  Knew him intimately, despite his wild honey-brown curls, polish-free fingernails, and lack of heavy, silver rings.  Despite his crisp white shirt and tan trousers.  He sported a pair of expensive Italian shoes, not scuffed black boots, but the unexpected footwear did little to diminish the sense of familiarity his spare frame evoked.  She could just see the thin gold rims of his glasses, and below those, an unmistakable set of high cheekbones.  It felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room - surely that was the reason she couldn’t breathe?  Buffy remained rooted to the spot several feet away, dumbstruck, staring.

The man raised his head, just a little, just enough that she could see the vivid blue of his eyes behind the glint of his glasses, and the genuine warmth and love radiating from them.  Then he blinked, and all that remained was a polite, blank glance.  The kind one offered a stranger.  He dropped his gaze to his book once more.  Buffy shook her head, sure the man in front of her was a mirage.  She’d talked to Spike earlier that morning.  He’d been in London, mere hours ago.  How could he be here? 

Except _Spike_ wasn’t here. 

 _William_ was.

Buffy didn’t move.  Couldn’t move.  Every few seconds, the corners of his mouth would twitch upwards for just a moment, and then his face would settle into a mask of concentration once more.

She forced herself to breathe, forced herself to take a step closer.  He tipped his head, but remained focused on his book.  Her tentative “William?” came out so breathy, even Buffy could barely hear it.

When she didn’t speak again, he raised his head and offered her a courteous smile.  “May I help you?”  Buffy swallowed, a little confused, until she realized Spike – _William_ – intended a reenactment of sorts.  Heat suffused her cheeks, as if she really was her younger self, her self of four years ago.

“Um, hi.  I… er…”  She gulped and tried again, ignoring the amused crinkles that had formed at the corners of his eyes.  “I’m looking for a book that’s supposed to be on the shelves, but it isn’t there.  I was hoping…” 

 _You’d have it?_   Why on earth would he have a book about wedding receptions?

Unless…

“It’s a set-up,” she said aloud.

“Pardon me?”  That cordial, blank look was back, but Buffy grinned, understanding now why her mother had been so insistent upon this particular book.  Joyce and Spike had been in cahoots from the start. 

Buffy took a moment to remember that long ago day, glad she’d revisited the memory of it so many times over the years.  She adopted her own polite mask.  “I was hoping you might have the book I needed.”  She gestured to the pile of books beside him.  “My mother asked me to pick it up.  She really needs it for an appointment later today, but I can’t find it and I’d hate to disappoint her…  And I’m babbling Buffy now.”

He stood, scooping up the pile of books, and held them out for her inspection.  “What are you looking for, pet?”  His smooth, cultured tones rolled over her, and she shivered.

“The _– The Perfect Wedding Reception_.”  Feeling silly, Buffy asked, “Are you reading it, by any chance?”

“Can’t say as I am.”  He smiled at her, and she felt the blush rise in her cheeks.  “But – seems to me somebody was.”  He shuffled the stack of books so she could see it had been on bottom.

“Oh!  Thank you!  This is great, my mom will be so pleased.”  He handed her the book, his fingertips whispering across her hand.  Buffy’s eyes widened, and then she laughed at herself for being as nervous and unsure as if she were actually young girl conversing with a cute stranger.  As much as he made her pulse race and her skin tingle, she knew this man.  Knew him well.  Still, they stood awkwardly together, and Buffy didn’t know what to say next, or how to keep the conversation going.  She cast back on their first meeting, and inspiration struck.  “So, what were you reading, if not about how to have a perfect wedding reception?”

He bent to pick up the book he’d laid over the arm of the chair.  “Tennyson.”

“Really?  I love Tennyson!”  She took a seat on the couch and he followed suit, a respectable distance apart. 

“Is that so?”

“Uh huh.”  Buffy leaned a little closer so she could see the page his book was open to, and took the opportunity to breathe him in.  After all, it’d been months since she’d seen Spike – and years since she’d laid eyes on William, the alter ego who had first captured her heart.  Buffy figured it wasn’t unreasonable for her hands to shake and her pulse to race, no, it would be more unreasonable if they didn’t.  At least she wasn’t the only one affected; as she tilted forward, his eyes dropped to her exposed cleavage, and he swallowed heavily.  She resisted the urge to lean even further in and nibble his bobbing Adam’s apple.  Instead, she asked, “Which one are you reading?”

He turned the book so she could see.  “’Marriage Morning’”.

Buffy smiled.  “How apt.  My mom’s getting married soon.  As you might have guessed,” she added, indicating the book she’d been looking for.

“So’s my uncle.”

“Really?  Are you here for his wedding?  Or – do you live here?”

“Just visiting at the moment.  I am thinking of moving here, though.  Then we’d have something else in common, besides the upcoming nuptials of our family members and our love of poetry.”

She laughed.  “I don’t know.  It’s a bit presumptuous of you to be finding commonalities when I don’t even know your name yet.  Think you’re jumping the gun.”  Even though she knew it was coming, her breath still caught in her throat when he introduced himself as William.  She swallowed heavily, and then gasped when, with a faint trace of a Spike-like smirk, he took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

“Ever so pleased to meet you, Miss Buffy of Sunnydale.”

“S-same.”  The back of her hand throbbed where William had kissed it, and Buffy wanted nothing more than to tackle him to the couch.  She stood abruptly.  “My mom’s waiting for this book.  I’d better get going.”

William stood as well.  “I was about to leave myself.  I’ll walk you out.”  Though he remained an appropriate distance away, Buffy could feel the heat radiating off his body.  Despite the William packaging, she could sense Spike lurking just beneath, in the way he moved and stood and walked.  There was no way he could hide his leonine grace, no matter how much he’d tried to cover it up with stiff clothing and formal behavior.  Unlike the first time they’d met, Buffy didn’t have to wonder about his prowess in bed;  she was already intimately aware of how well he could move his body, of just how capable he was of going all night long and then some, and her imagination went wild.  All the fantasies she’d indulged in over the years came rushing back, and she shivered with anticipation, knees trembling.

He turned those blue eyes on her and reached out a steadying hand.  “Cold?”

“No!” she squeaked.  “Maybe.”

At the circulation desk, William waited to the side, then opened the front door for her.  The stood together in front of the library, saying nothing, and Buffy wasn’t quite sure how the script went from here.  She had her own car, unlike the last time.

William spoke first.  “I was wondering – I have some free time right now.  Would you like to go get coffee?”

She bit back a grin.  “Um.  That’s – Erm.  This is going to sound like a total brush-off, but I’m seeing someone.  And it’s pretty serious.”

“Oh!  Me too!  I’m not propositioning you – not that I wouldn’t like to.”  His voice deepened at that last bit, and his eyes darkened and dropped to her mouth.  Buffy licked her lips in response.  “I just thought we could talk a little.  About Tennyson, perhaps.  Be nice to already know somebody, if and when I move here.”

Buffy was ready to scream, “Screw the coffee, just take me home!”  The charade was turning her on, though, and from the way he shifted his weight, she knew Spike – _William_ – was aroused as well.  So she hammed it up, smiling hesitantly and pretending to be unsure.

“Just one cup.  My treat.”

“Well…”

He took her hand.  “Please?”

Her heart did a funny kind of thump in her chest.  “I _could_ use some lunch.  Throw in a muffin, and it’s a deal.”

William smiled down at her, eyes crinkling.  “I’d be delighted.  I’ll let you lead the way, shall I?”

They strolled side-by-side to the Espresso Pump, making small talk.  Every few steps, William found a reason to touch her: he steadied her by her elbow when it looked as though she might stumble, or tapped her arm to draw her attention when he wanted to point something out.  Buffy’s hand itched to grab his and hold onto it, but she contented herself with their subtle flirting.  When he ran his hand through his hair, a mental image of a particularly vivid fantasy she’d had, one that had caused her wonder just what those curls would feel like tickling her inner thighs, made her trip over the curb.  He twisted to catch her, and she fell into his arms.

And stayed there.

God, he felt good.  Warm, and firm, and strong.  It had been so long since she’d been in Spike’s embrace.  She’d missed it, but this, with him sporting a crisp button-down rather than a well-loved t-shirt, felt new and exciting.  Buffy’s fingers began a slow caress of the fabric covering his chest, exploring the unfamiliar sensation.  William tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer, and she could feel his arousal against her hip.  He swallowed heavily.  “Are – are you all right?”

Buffy remembered why she’d tripped in the first place.  She stared up at his face, shifting against his hardness.  William closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and then released her and stepped back a pace. 

She found her voice.  “Yep.  Peachy.  Thanks for the save.”

“It was my pleasure.”  His voice came out a deep rumble, and Buffy swore he was holding back a leer.  It was bizarre to imagine _William’s_ visage leering at her, but at the same time…

“God, I want you right now.”

He choked, eyes wide behind his glasses.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Food!  God, I want _food_ right now!  Because I’m so hungry.  So hungry, I’m tripping and stumbling and dizzy!”

William raised an eyebrow – a scarred eyebrow – but from behind glasses, it didn’t have quite the same effect.  “Of course.  Perhaps I should assist you.  To prevent additional mishaps.”  He offered her the crook of his elbow, and Buffy took it.

“Thank you.”

They made it to the Espresso Pump without further incident.  Coffees and pastries in hand, William suggested they take their lunch to a nearby park, and Buffy agreed.  The pair found a shady bench under a tree, and this time, when they sat, his knee brushed against hers.  “So, Buffy.  Which of Tennyson’s poems is your favorite?”

Buffy told him, reciting it shyly when he asked her to, and then he shared his with her.  Soon they’d fallen into an intense discussion that flowed from topic to topic without effort.  She smiled to herself, realizing that her wish had finally come true – she had the chance to compare the reality of William to the fantasy she’d built in her mind.  Maybe it was because she already knew she loved this man, no matter what face he presented to the world, but the reality didn’t disappoint.  William was everything she’d remembered and more.

All the while, they moved closer to each other, until their thighs butted.  Buffy laid her hand upon his forearm and left it there.  William’s nostrils flared.  Their eyes locked, and the conversation ground to a halt.  She curled her fingers around his arm, breathless with anticipation.

Slowly, William raised his other hand and brushed her hair away from her face.  “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No.  Not really.”

“Once upon a time, I should have agreed with you.”

“But you don’t now?”

He cupped her cheek.  “How could I not?”

Buffy swallowed, and leaned into his hand.  This was her cue to protest, to pretend to be poised to run off, virtue a-fluttering.  “I ought to go.  My mom’s waiting.”

“Please don’t.”

“But…”

“Don’t you want to find out where this goes?  See if your heart is leading you true?”

Buffy wondered how their lives might have been different if she’d said yes the first time, and gone for coffee with William.  Would they have been able to avoid the heartache they’d each endured in the intervening years?  It didn’t matter.  He was here, now, and she had the opportunity to do what she wished she’d done all those years ago.  She stood, legs trembling with the force of her desire, while the man she loved watched her intently, his face hopeful.  After a moment’s hesitation, she reached for his hand and pulled him to stand next to her.

“You know what?  You’re right.  I do want to see where this goes.” 

William smiled.  “Glad we agree,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers. 

 

 

 

**THE END**


End file.
